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iovetecchou · 7 months

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What’s Your Motive? ⧸ Wriothesley.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Summary: Wriothesley is fed up with you constantly getting arrested for petty crimes. It's like you're trying to get locked up just to annoy him. Perhaps a different form of punishment for your crimes is in order.

༞ Contains...! smut, hatefucking, use of handcuffs, fucking through the jail cell bars, no prep, degradation, name calling (runt, cumslut), one use of "good girl", reader refers to Wriothesley as 'mister', cumshot, facial, subtle fluff because i am insane

༞ AFAB Reader.

༞ 1.920 words.

kinktober masterlist!

"I told you not to break the law. More than once."

Wriothesley deadpanned. His grip around your hand was tight as he took your fingerprints. You could tell he was concealing his rage, but the tremors coming from his large palm were a dead giveaway.

"Aww! Not happy to see me again, mister?" You snickered, purposefully making the process more difficult for Wriothesley. You kept smudging your prints; he had to start over twice already. There was no way in hell he was putting up with your shit tonight. He was stressed, and your constant reappearances here only added to the dogpile of dread.

"Guards, finish booking this runt. I need to make myself a cup of tea before I lose my mind." That last statement was more of a whisper to himself. But you were amused by it, regardless.

"Who you callin' a runt, huh?" You gasped in faux disdain, bumping shoulders with him as you feigned offense because of his little nickname for you. Wriothesley's large palm squeezed over yours once more as a warning before he walked off.

You clicked your tongue as you watched him walk away. You hated to see him go, but you loved to watch him leave.

Wriothesley wanted to gouge his eyes out as he heard you whistle while he descended the dark hallway. He knew you were directing the catcall at him and him alone. Every time you came to Wriothesley's precinct, you sought him out. He didn't understand your strange requests to be detained by him each time, and quite frankly, he didn't care.

But you both have been doing this little song and dance for months. You would get arrested for a minor crime, taken into custody for a few days, be released and repeat every few weeks. They were all petty crimes, proof enough to Wriothesley that you were committing them with ulterior motives.

Wriothesley had the graveyard shift tonight, which meant lots and lots of tea was in order to keep him functioning, especially now that you were back under his watch.

He was monitoring the security cameras as he sipped his favorite stress relief tea blend, nearly dropping his cup when he noticed you attempting to escape from your cell. Wriothesley sighed deeply, clenching his jaw as he shot up from his desk. Wasting no time, he made quick strides toward your section.

On his stride there, Wriothesley's anger toward you bubbled up from deep within. Each passing step caused him to become more and more agitated. He recounted all of the encounters you both had over the months. He didn't understand you in the slightest, and that just enraged him even further. What was your motive?

"Hey, runt. You seriously didn't think this pathetic attempt would work, right?" Your smirk grew tenfold from the sound of his voice.

"Nope, just needed an excuse to get ya down here!" You giggled, tilting your head up to meet his icy gaze.

Oh... he looked furious. Good.

He glared at you from beyond the bars, eyebrows ticked up in annoyance as he captured his cuffs. Wriothesley swirled them around his index finger before seizing them tightly. "Turn around and stick your hands out, now."

"Aww, but you only just got here! I wanted to admire your pretty face for a little lo—"

"Now."

His stern voice sent chills down your spine in the best way possible. You finally got him to break.

You followed his orders. Turning your back toward Wriothesley, leaning your back against the cool metal bars. You extended your arms behind you, letting them slip through the spaces of the metal cell.

Before you could question him further, Wriothesley cuffed your hands. Trapping you against the metal bars of your enclosure. You tugged against your restraints, tilting your head back and getting a glimpse of Wriothesley.

"Care to tell me what this is about, mister? Doesn't seem like protocol to me." You quipped, shooting a playful wink at Wriothesley. All of your sass was knocked out of you the moment he slotted himself against the bars. You could faintly feel the warmth radiating from his chest as his hands slipped past the metal poles.

"Keep fucking quiet, runt. There are other prisoners and guards here, you know. The world does not revolve around you." Wriothesley spat. Wasting no time tugging your flimsy pants and panties down your legs in one harsh tug.

Heat rushed through your core as the cool air hit your exposed lower half.

This was really happening? Fucking finally.

"Oh, I really got your panties in a twist this time huh, mister?" You pressed your ass further into the cell, trying your hardest to feel him closer. Your smirk only grew when you heard Wriothesley fumbling with his belt.

"I said, be quiet," Wriothesley whispered. You could feel his breath fanning over the tip of your ear as his hand crawled back through to grasp your hip. He hastily pulled his cock out of his confinements, slipping it through the cell bars. You choked on a whine as you felt the blunt head of his cock run through your folds.

"Oh? Now you got nothing to say? Who knew all you needed was some dick to put you in line." Wriothesley spat, cursing under his breath as he gathered your slick. "You're so fucking wet, too. What, don't tell me this was your plan all along? Such a filthy fucking runt."

A choked moan slipped past your lips as his cock pushed past the tight ring of your pussy. Wriothesley quickly slipped his other hand through the cell bars, slotting his large palm over your mouth. "Shut the fuck up." He mumbled against the shell of your ear, slamming his cock inside you to the hilt.

Your eyes rolled back in ecstasy as he filled you to the brim with his length. You could feel his thick cock pulsing inside you, his balls twitching from where they kissed the underside of your pussy. You had dreamt of this moment only a thousand times over, but the real thing exceeded your expectations.

Wriothesley wasted no time pounding into you relentlessly, barely giving you a moment to adjust. You drooled all over his fingers and gloves as your shameless whimpers and whines slipped out. However, the more you cried out in pleasure, the harder he fucked you.

"This pussy is so greedy, fuck." Wriothesley cursed, clenching his jaw tightly as he pulled your hips harshly to meet his thrusts. Your arms strained from the uncomfortable position they were in. But you couldn't care less. The feeling of Wriothesley's cock prodding your sweet spot overpowered that dull ache in your cuffed wrists.

You desperately longed to see the look of pleasure twisted on Wriothesley's face as he fucked you. But his deep grunts and groans of pleasure against your ear were mind-numbing enough.

You hardly tried to conceal your mewls of pleasure, too cock drunk to care if someone were to overhear. "If you don't shut that dirty fucking mouth of yours, you'll regret it." Wriothesley huffed, clamping his hand even tighter around your mouth. His thrusts were brutal. The sound of skin slapping against skin and the rattling of the steel rods echoed through the dark halls.

Quite ironic. Considering Wriothesley was the one telling you to be quiet.

If he wanted you to be quiet, then so be it. Your teeth sunk into the back of his fingertips, pulling a loud hiss from Wriothesley's lips. He chuckled deeply. Breath tickling the side of your face as his pace only quickened. The tip of his cock was nudging your cervix with each deep thrust.

"Good," He paused, grounding his hips into your ass as deep as he could through the bars.

"Fucking," Wriothesley pulled his hips back, tip nearly slipping out of your hot wet heat if it wasn't for the tight grip your gummy walls had on him.

"Girl." He slammed himself all the way back in with a loud, wet squelch. Wriothesley calling you a good girl, paired with the feeling of his cock rubbing against your g-spot was too much to bear.

You gushed around his cock as the coil within you snapped. Your teeth sunk into the rough material of his gloves as you came. Your pussy clenched and pulsed around his length as you struggled to stay up on your shaky legs.

Wriothesley cursed under his breath. Quickly, he pulled himself out of your tight, wet heat. He swiftly undid the lock on your cuffs. You collapsed to your knees, instinctively pulling your hands back through the bars. You nursed your wrists, cradling them to your chest as your legs trembled.

"Look at me," Wriothesley demanded breathlessly. You slowly turned on your knees, eyes widening as you faced him. He was fisting his cock furiously, a wild blush coating his cheeks as his icy orbs locked onto you. You felt your pussy throb once more from the sight alone, bringing your hands up through the bars— desperately trying to replace his hand with yours.

Wriothesley swatted your hand away before ordering, "Stick your tongue out for me, runt."

Without hesitancy, your jaw fell slack. Your tongue darted out almost instantly as you drank in his blissed-out expression. Without warning, Wriothesley brought his dick only centimeters away from your lips. A deep groan slipped past his mouth as his first ropes of cum shot past his slit.

You admired his pretty face as Wriothesley came all over yours. You swallowed every last drop of his cum that landed on your tongue, allowing the ropes that missed your mouth to roll down your cheeks.

Wriothesley grunted as he shot the last of his load onto your face. He admired your filthy state for a few beats more. A smirk cascaded across his face before he let out a whistle of his own, mimicking your actions from earlier.

"Wow... guess it shouldn't come as a surprise that you're a filthy cumslut on top of all your other crimes." Wriothesley deadpanned, leisurely tucking his now softening cock back into his pants.

"Oh, so now it's a crime to want to fuck you?" You chuckled, swiping some of his cum off your cheek before placing the pad of your thumb in your mouth. Licking it entirely clean.

Wriothesley flushed, averting his gaze from your lewd display. He stifled a cough before muttering, "No, but I'm sure you and I just committed about a dozen crimes. Indecent exposure, public indecency, disorderly conduct— shall I continue?"

"You do realize you just said we right, mister? Meaning you should be in this cell right alongside me. Come on, handsome, why don't you keep me warm tonight? You can come inside me this ti—"

"In your dreams, runt. Consider this your punishment for causing me hell for months. I won't give you what you want just because you're cute."

Your cheeks flushed as you stood on shaky legs, coming face to face with him. "You think I'm cute?" You asked earnestly, a genuine smile pulling at your lips.

Wriothesley turned on his heel, trying to conceal his embarrassment from slipping up and calling you cute. He stifled a cough, making slow strides down the hallway. You assumed he was going to keep walking without another word, and just as you began pulling your pants back up your trembling legs, you heard him shout,

"Yeah, I do, so stop breaking the law. Then maybe I can take you on a proper date."

#genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #wriothesley #wriothesley smut #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #wriothesley genshin #genshin wriothesley

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dottedsilktie · 7 days

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Spring cleaning

Nanami Kento is the perfect man. At least, he would be if he wasn't so hellbent on dragging you into his maddening cleaning routine. Luckily, he knows just how to get you on board. cw : tooth-rotting fluff ! a little suggestive if you squint

You used to be partial to spring, looking forward to the last days of March when the prospect of warmer days thawed the chilly remnants of winter. Then you met Kento, and spring was no longer associated with flowers in bloom and sunny days ahead. Ever since you moved in together, you started dreading the last two weeks of March.

Kento had a peculiar way of welcoming the new season and it involved a day of thorough and almost debilitating spring cleaning. The first time he told you about it, you waved off his detailed plan for the day as a joke. Now, years later, you still cower at the thought of the back-breaking, mind-numbing and, quite frankly, infuriating cleaning programme he puts together every year to test your patience.

You've tried everything to get out of it - faking an illness, 'inadvertently' scheduling a conflicting business trip, crying and grovelling at his feet - but nothing worked. So you've come to accept your fate and gave up on throwing a tantrum first thing in the morning when your alarm rang at 6 AM sharp on that dreaded day. Kento was already out of bed, probably gearing up for a long day of power raking the yard and getting off on it. You were almost tempted to snooze it but you knew he would just slither in your room and snatch you out of bed himself. So you steeled yourself to get up, get ready and get cleaning. Kento was waiting for you in the kitchen, brows furrowed and deep in thought as he went over the printed plan he'd stuck on the fridge. He barely acknowledges you when you croak out a hoarse 'good morning' and kiss his cheek, only humming and squeezing your waist in passing. A glance at the plan he perused was enough to send shivers down your spine : it involved raking, watering, trimming everything in the garden, followed by never-ending laundry and finally channelling Kento’s Marie Kondo obsession to sort through your closets and get rid of enough junk to appease his vendetta against unworn clothes.

Once you settle on your high chair in front of the marble countertop, Kento pushes a cup of coffee towards you, and when you wrinkle your nose at the uncharacteristically potent smell, he explains with a small smile, “Blond roast ristretto - you’re going to need it, darling ” before kissing your forehead and standing up to his full height in front of you.

You just stare at each other for a while - you sipping the sewer water he called a coffee, and him shooting you a sharp scrutinising glare that’d have you squirming the right way any other day. “You are usually quicker than this, almost feels like you’re stalling for time”, he observes with the slightest amused upwards twitch of his mouth. God why must a man this handsome be so insufferable. “Just savouring the exquisite coffee my darling husband made for me, is that wrong ?”, you retort, tone dripping with sarcasm that only makes his smile wider. You think you might just be able to charm and laugh your way out of this but he’s quick to pinch your nose to distract you and snatch your mug from your hands, fine blond brows quirked and rosy lips stretched in boyish mirth. He doesn’t have to reprimand you, you’re already raising your hands in defeat, mumbling in a tone nothing short of dejected, “Okay, okay – no need to get handsy, it’s not easy giving up on my freedom”. To drive your point home, you make a show out of slowly sliding off your high chair, hissing and groaning as you stretch your arms over your head and crack your knuckles right under Kento’s nose. “I’m not fit for these things, Kento - every time I move I feel my body cracking and all, I’m not made for physical labour”.

He listens intently, amusement shifting into mild concern as his hangdog gaze dart between your cup that he rinses off and the pathetic stretching routine you’re performing. Kento moves to dry his hands on a kitchen towel before cupping your cheeks. His amber eyes are so soft and he looks at you with a fondness so genuine, so poignant you’re sure he’s going to let you off the hook. You inch even closer to victory when he bends down to brush the tip of his nose against yours and ghost chaste kisses along your cheeks, your jaw, then your temples. He stays like that for a while, one hand at your nape brushing the delicate hair there, the other cradling your face and rubbing soothing circles against your heated skin.

“I’m sorry”, he whispers right into your ear, his voice smooth and comforting, then he’s back to peppering your temple and cheek with small pecks that make you melt against him. “It’s fine, I know you wouldn’t want to put me through that now that you see just how bad it’d be for me to — " “I’m sorry that you thought this would be a convincing performance”, he cuts you off, biting down on your earlobe, making you gasp at the unexpected nip of his sharp teeth against your sensitive skin.

He pulls back to appreciate how your pretty face contorts in fluster, then surprise, before twisting in an angry pout. You’re gnawing at your bottom lip, arms crossed over your chest, truly defeated this time and the shame of being played only adds to your growing irritation. “My petulant little thespian is at her wits’ end”, he taunts you in a singsong voice, his usually inflectionless baritone voice sounding uncharacteristically chipper. You stare at your feet with the vexed mortification of a child caught red-handed and Kento has to hook a finger under your chin for you to look him in the eyes.

“Do a good job cleaning today and I might just help you work out those aches that make you ‘unfit’, mmh ?”, he offers, the swift flicker of his gaze between your eyes and your lips sullying the apparent innocence of his offer. He doesn’t give you time to answer as he brushes past you, a smug smile playing on his lips, and you all but scurry out of the kitchen, hot on his heels and bursting with energy. Needless to say, the house is spotless by the end of the day, your assigned chores crossed off at record speed.

can you tell i love domestic kento

#jjk fluff #nanami kento #nanami x reader #jjk nanami #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #jujustu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x yn #gn reader #nanami fluff

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lydiimae · 20 days

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Adoration

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Part 1 <3

MDI!! 18+

Warnings: Mentions of sex work, mentions of alcohol abuse, mentions (very light and brief) of physical abuse to readers mother, oral (m receiving, vaginal sex, masturbation, dirty talk, talk of public sex

Word Count: 4.1k

A.N: ITS HERE. Part two of infatuation \^-^/! I had so much trouble trying to figure out how to extend this story, but as soon as I wrote this I was overwhelmed with ideas on how to continue it. I am so sorry I have been so very inconsistent with writing, I am nearing finals so I have been so low energy and motivation. (College is awful). For those who have sent me requests- they are coming I promise! Anyways my loves, here is Benedict Bridgerton and you being Benedict Bridgerton and you <3 I hope you enjoy it, and as always, thank you for your overwhelming support and love >_<

It has been two weeks since that lovely, lust-filled night with Benedict. Two weeks since you had officially become his mistress. Two weeks, and you still made sure to keep your past a secret, and the significant fact that you worked as a maid for the family that lives right across from him. There was a certain shame that came with both, a feeling that he would not want you to come to his townhouse anymore if he found out. You thought he might find it odd that you work so close to his house. Perhaps he might even come to the assumption that you were seeking him out at the party, that he would find you strange. None of that would ever be true, of course. Benedict adores the time he spends with you, he makes it clear every time you meet, but there is still an underlying sense of dread. Especially today.

Indeed, that dread is the same dread that is lingering in the back of your head now. You are chaperoning Penelope to tea with Colin, much to her excitement. You had spent almost three hours getting her ready beforehand, insisting that she looks good in whatever she wears. The both of you walked across the street, the young debutante grinning ear to ear. You, on the other hand, were a ball of nerves. You had met Benedict in his bachelor's lodgings just last night, but you decided not to speak of what he may see today. You were regretting that decision now as you knocked on the door with a shaky hand.

“Y/N, you are shaking. Whatever is the matter? Are you feeling well?” Penelope asks, looking at you with pure concern. “It is only a headache, my lady. Nothing you have to worry about. Today is about you.” You assure, smiling as brightly as you can as you fib. She smiles back, her face brightening. The footman, John, answers the door and grins. “Lady Featherington. Lord Bridgerton is in the drawing room. Please come in.” He says, opening his arm towards the entryway. You collect Penelope's shawl before bowing your head to the footman politely. She starts down the hall and you take a deep breath before faking a sparkling smile, following her into the drawing room.

Sure enough, Benedict is there, sprawled out across the sofa with his sketchbook and charcoal in hand. He looks up lazily when Penelope walks in, but his expression quickly changes to one of shock when you follow. Your face shifts from a bright smile to an apologetic one, trying to communicate your worries silently. A silent prayer that he will pick up on your lingering anxieties about working for his neighbor.

He clears his throat and comes to the door, where you are patiently standing. “You… for them?” He whispers as he approaches, his expression unreadable. You only nod in response, knowing that if you say anything it will come out a jumbled mess of stutters. “Why did I not know before now?” He asks, settling into a polite position near you. To anyone on the outside, it looks as if he is merely speaking to a maid about his brother and her mistress. “I... I suppose I did not find it important.” You fib.

“Well, I certainly do. You are so secretive.” He sighs, looking over at you. Your eyes settle on your feet, not daring to meet his. “Y/N. If you are going to be my mistress there must be some semblance of transparency between us.” He says softly, his pinky extending and curling around one of yours. The action makes your cheeks heat up. “I did not know if you would think it strange. I have worked there for so long… I thought you would perhaps think less of me.” You whisper, the reasoning sounding silly now that you have said it out loud.

"And why would I think that?" He asks, sensing your nerves and giving your pinky a comforting squeeze as if to say that he is not put off. "You do not find it strange that I have worked across the road from you for ages? I thought that you would think I somehow... sought you out." You whisper, a bit tense. “No, I only pity that you have to be in the same home as Lady Featherington, the woman is a wench.” He mumbles, nudging your hip with his own. You have to suppress a laugh as you look up at him. He looks down at you with an expression of adoration.

"Y/N, I do appreciate honesty. I wish for you to tell me things like this. You do not need to feel anxious around me." He says softly, turning from playful to concerned like a dime. "I do not. I promise. It is more anxieties that linger because of past experiences I suppose." You whisper, looking down at your feet. He senses that there may be something more underneath, and he also senses that you do not wish to speak about it any longer. "My statement still stands. I am not others, I shall not judge you for being a woman who needs to support herself. I certainly shall not judge you for being apprehensive of telling me the place of your employment either." He assures.

“Thank you.” You breathe, looking away before you slip up and do something entirely untoward. You watch Colin and Penelope interact, a small smile gracing your lips as you observe how sweet they are to each other. “Colin. Does he hold any affection for any of the debutantes this season?” You ponder quietly as you watch Penelope smile shyly at the young man. Benedict looks over as well and a knowing look crosses over his features. “He has been secretive about it. Unusually so.” He whispers back. “And Penelope?” He returns. “Penelope is ever hopeful about one.” You hum before returning your gaze to him.

He meets your eyes and nods, giving your pinky a squeeze with his own. “She is a sweet girl. I have no doubt she will be successful in making her hopes a reality this season.” He murmurs. You nod and look away once more, stolen glances getting all too much paired with the grasp of his finger around yours. “Have you opened yourself up to the idea of marriage, Benedict?” You ask though you do not wish to know the answer. Some strange ache spreads through your chest at the thought of him marrying someone.

He visibly tenses and shakes his head. “No. No, I wish to focus on my art. Improving it, getting ahead in the academy. No time for… marriage right now.” He nods, clearing his throat and quickly returning his gaze to his brother. You nod, something about his vehement denial of the idea of marriage making you calm slightly. “It is quite suffocating. The idea of having to give your whole heart to a person with the risk that they break it. Then you would be… stuck.” You whisper and he looks down at you.

“You believe so?” He asks, his brows knitting together. You look up and nod. “I… what if the person changes once you make your vows? What if they hurt you? I find it terrifying.” You admit. “You do not?” You ask and he shakes his head. “No. I find the risk all the more romantic. If you find someone who truly makes your heart swell, someone who you find you cannot breathe without, who plagues your mind day in and day out, would it not be worth the risk?” He asks and you cannot respond.

“Finding a woman that makes you feel as though you have discovered the reason behind why poets speak of love so greatly, the way that artists paint the feeling so vividly, is well worth the risk to me. It is what makes life so exciting, finding your person. Your reason.” He finishes, and your heart is practically hammering out of your chest. “That is a very beautiful outlook on love, Benedict.” You manage to whisper back, and he smiles. “It is the naive artist in me.” He whispers back, his tone right back to playful and you nod, smiling to yourself. Whoever Benedict marries is a lucky woman, you decide.

Soon, Penelope and Colin part ways and you are forced to let go of Benedict’s pinky. With a quick curtsy to the Bridgerton brothers, you lead Penelope into the entryway where you wrap her shawl around her shoulders. You curtsy once more to the footman before walking the young debutante back home.

She speaks of Colin the whole way back and for the rest of the afternoon. You find it endearing, the amount of love she holds for the young man. She has never once admitted it outright, but it has always been quite clear to you in the way she speaks and looks at him. Your heart used to break for her when she would come crying to you about the things she overheard him say about her, but recently that has all changed. They are both clearly in love.

It makes you think of what it would feel like, to be a young debutante in love. To have all of the dresses in the world, to have your every wish only an arm's length away, to have your every need catered to. You had concluded long ago that love was a privilege, just as happiness and comfort. After all, you never saw any of those things in the neighborhood you grew up in. Not in the families you were surrounded by, and certainly not in your own.

Your father worked in a factory and your mother, though she would never admit it, was a prostitute. When your father reached the age of forty-five, the factory laid him off on the claim that he was getting too old and slow to keep up with the children. That is when your father began drinking. You were about ten and seven at the time, and you had picked up a job under a modiste in town where you met Genevieve. Every night when you would return home you would find your father screaming drunken insults at your mother. Drunken insults turned into drunken actions that he would swear would never happen again, and one day your mother stopped coming home from her nights on the streets.

Then, when you would come home, your father would yell at you. The minute he even hinted at being physical with you, you packed your bags and never looked back. Happiness and love were dead, a silly idea that only people with money could have. You spent another three years living with Genevieve before the job at the Featheringtons was presented to you. You accepted Lady Featherington’s offer gratefully and have been working as a lady’s maid for Penelope ever since. The only person who knows the full story of your past is Genevieve, as transparency is another comfort only granted to those with money. Who knows what would be said about you if you openly admitted that your mother was a lady of the night?

“How do you know Benedict, Y/N?” Penelope’s voice snaps you out of the trance you had been in while brushing her hair out before bed. Your blood runs cold. Had she overheard your conversation? “Whatever do you mean, my lady?” You ask, playing dumb. She snorts and smiles knowingly. “You were talking with him like you had known him your whole life, not to mention the way the both of you were looking at each other.” She says.

“My lady I-” You start, trying to think of any excuse to explain the way you were speaking to Benedict, but she quickly interrupts. “Y/N, you know that whatever you share with me shall be kept with me. I promise.” She says with a comforting smile and you chew on your bottom lip, deciding if you want to tell her the full truth or the half-truth. You quickly decide that there is no point in lying, as you are quite terrible at it.

“We met at a party a few weeks ago.” You whisper as your cheeks turn pink. She turns, making your hands fall to your side. “Really? My God! He is handsome, is he not?” She says with a grin and you smile shyly. “He is indeed, my lady.” You agree and she laughs. “Have you met with him? Has your friendship grown?” She asks and you nod. “I do. I meet with him whenever I am able.” You reply and she nods. “You deserve something wonderful, Y/N. Perhaps he could-” She starts but you shake your head. “It is nothing like that, my lady. I am quite content with my life here, working for you. I see no need in chasing something I am not allowed to have.” You say and her face falls. She nods understandably nonetheless, turning back to the mirror so you can continue to get her ready for bed, the idle conversation turning to one of the books she has read recently.

You make your way down to the servants' quarters after making sure Penelope has everything she needs for the night. As you walk past the other servants one of the other maids stops you with a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Grace, what is it?” You ask and she grins. “You have a letter, Y/N. A young man snuck it in while you were taking Penelope shopping this afternoon.” She says with a knowing smile, passing you a small letter.

“Thank you.” You hum before making your way to your small bedroom. You walk in and shut the door behind you, lighting the candle on your desk. “Meet me at midnight, where the world sleeps and the stars whisper secrets. Let us share a moment under the moon's gentle gaze, just you and me, lost in each other's embrace. B.B.” You grin at his somewhat sloppy handwriting, tucking the note away in the lockable drawer in your desk before getting ready to go to his townhouse.

You pin your hair up and put on one of Genevive’s more risque creations, made just for you. A gift for your nineteenth birthday that you have never had a use for until now. It is a baby pink, almost seethrough material that hangs loose on your body. However, it hugs the assets that you find Benedict likes the most. You cover it up with a cloak to walk and slip on your stockings and shoes before making your way out of the Featherington estate.

He had thought of nothing but you since you arrived at his home, even now as he paints in the small drawing room of his townhouse his thoughts are plagued by you. He is trying to be patient, but he wants nothing more than to run to the Featherington residence and have his way with you. His grip on the paintbrush in his hand tightens as his thoughts turn to the way your body moves when you are in his bed. The way his thighs feel hitting yours when he is buried to the hilt inside of you, the noises he draws from your perfect cunt, the way your breasts bounce when you are on top of him.

He groans and drops the paintbrush, burying his head in his hands as his trousers become tighter. He closes his eyes and jiggles his leg, trying to take his mind off sex. How humiliating would it be if he answered the door with his cock fully hard already? He groans and runs a hand through his hair, standing up and moving to the sofa so he can take care of the problem himself. He leans back and unbuttons his trousers, letting his cock spring free against his clothed stomach.

He sighs and spits on his hand beginning to stroke himself to the thought of you. Your face when you reach your peak, the way you moan when he drinks from your body, how your lips wrap around his cock as your eyes look up into his, always so eager to please. He moans at the thought of your perfect breasts pressed against his chest, your nails dragging angry red marks into his back as he fucks you so hard his hips leave marks on your pelvic bone. God, he wants nothing more than to mark you as his for the rest of the world to see. He wants to parade you around all of London completely naked and on all fours.

You smile to yourself as you walk to the back entrance, deciding to surprise him. You are happy to find the back door unlocked and you let yourself in, expecting him to be in the drawing room sat in front of a canvas. You hang up your cloak and seak deeper into the home, making sure your bare feet touch the cold wood as quietly as they can.

You freeze when you hear a loud moan from the drawing room, your heart dropping to your feet. Surely he does not have another woman here, you thought that you had made your boundaries quite clear when he made you his mistress. You did not want to fuck him after he had just fucked another woman, the thought made your stomach roll over with disgust. You chew on the inside of your cheek as you peek inside the drawing room, your lips parting when you are presented with a very much-alone Benedict stroking his cock on the sofa.

Heat pools in your core as your eyes lock in his hand, moving up and down quite quickly. The tip is already an angry red, dripping with hints of his arousal. You take a deep breath and make your way into the room as quietly as you can, biting your lip to stop yourself from moaning when he lets out a very breathy, and wanton, “Y/N.” You drop to your knees in front of him, pressing a light kiss to his knee in hopes of not startling him too much.

His eyes shoot open and his hands automatically go to cover himself. You laugh at his startled expression and he sighs in relief, moving a hand down to cup your cheek. “How did you get in?” He breathes, running his thumb along your cheekbone. You hum and lean into his gentle caress. “You left the back door unlocked. So irresponsible, Bridgerton.” You murmur and he chuckles, the deep sound making your thighs all wet and sticky.

“Perhaps I was being hopeful.” He whispers back and you smile. “You have not commented on the dress I have on. I worked so very hard to look good for you.” You tease, jutting your lip out playfully. He rolls his eyes and gestures for you to stand, making you giggle as you do. “Jesus fucking Christ, Y/N. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” He grunts, placing his hands on your hips. You swat them away and he huffs in frustration. “Do not pout, I want to please you. Please.” You whisper and all of his resolve suddenly disappears.

He watches as you sink back down onto your knees between his legs, slowly slipping his trousers off. Once his legs are bare, you begin to pepper the inside of his thighs with wet, open-mouthed kisses. He groans and slides a hand into your hair, making the pins fall out. He plays with your curls and grips as you press a kiss so very close to his twitching cock, his reaction making you smirk.

Without warning you take his tip into your mouth, sucking on it like an ice lolly. He groans and rolls his head back, his hips bucking up as he grips your hair to try and push you onto his cock. You allow him to guide you, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes as your nose gets pressed into his pubic hair. You look up at him just as he looks down at you, a cocky smirk plastered across his face as he begins to thrust into your mouth. The action makes you moan, your hand sneaking between your legs to soothe the ache that has settled there.

You whine and grind down onto your fingers, the vibrations making him grunt and stall. You gag and tap once on his thigh, pulling off of him when he lets go. Drool dribbles down your neck and between your breasts as you pant, looking up at him with glassy eyes. He curls his fingers around your chin and leads you up onto your feet. “So perfect.” He whispers as his hands find their way to the soft flesh of your rear. He squeezes and you gasp, moving to straddle him as if on instinct.

He hums and presses a kiss to your lips as he begins to undo the ribbons on your dress. The fabric falls and he lifts your hips, his lips still locked with yours. He throws the dress somewhere across the room and his hands come to your waist, moving you so you are lying flat on the sofa. He breaks the kiss only to lick a stripe down your neck as your legs wrap around his waist. He hums and bites your collarbone as his fingers plow through your folds, making you cry out loudly. He smirks and rubs his thumb around your clit, slipping one long finger into your entrance.

Your eyes roll back as his finger curls into that spongey spot he somehow knows how to find right away each time. He adds another finger and begins to twist, slowly getting your body ready for him. You pant hard and crowd a hand into his thick hair, tugging him up from your neck so you can steal a sloppy kiss full of tongue and tooth. You whine when the feeling of his fingers disappears and buck your hips up into his, silently begging for whatever he wants to give you.

He parts the kiss and presses his forehead against yours, his tip nudging your entrance. You whine and close your eyes, at which he grips your chin. “Look at me while I fuck you, Y/N. You know the rules.” He breathes and your eyes snap open. He grins and buries himself completely inside of you with one thrust, making you cry out as he grunts. “Fuck. Fuck, you… God. So tight.” He breathes, beginning to pound into you at a brutal pace. You grip his arms, your mouth hanging open as loud moans and whines slip past your lips beyond your control.

He pounds into you, your nails dragging down his back with every thrust. His hands press down onto your hips so hard you are sure that his fingerprints will be embedded in your skin. He revels in the slick noises he draws from your cunt, sucking a mark on your chest where he knows it will not be seen. The sound of thighs meeting thighs fills the small space, the smell of sex making your mind foggy. His pelvis slams against your clit with every thrust, making an utterly intoxicating feeling of pain and pleasure wash over your body as he fills you to the brim.

He is so close already, what with palming himself and a quick suck from you. He presses his head into the crook of your neck and bites down, your nails digging into the skin of his shoulders. His hand sneaks between both of your bodies and his thumb finds your clit, circling fast so that he can get you to where he is. It works wonderfully and your cunt clenches around him ad you call out his name. He pulls out quickly, spilling himself on your stomach as his fingers take you to your climax. A pinch to your clit takes you over the edge, seeing stars and babbling nonsense about how good he is as you do.

He lifts himself off of you and cuddles into your side, making you smile. He peppers your shoulder with kisses and you laugh. “Stay?” He whispers after a moment of nothing but kisses and the sounds of your breathing. Your cheeks heat up at the adorable, hopeful expression that crosses over his face. “Mmm. I think I can, Mister Bridgerton.” You tease, flipping him onto his back and crawling over him. “Jesus Christ. You are utter perfection.” He whispers, claiming your mouth again.

Perhaps, love is not that far away.

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moonstruckme · 8 months

Text

Divots

summary: James shows you the practical uses of your stretch marks

cw: reader deals with body insecurities, the barest suggestion of smut

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

James Potter is always touching you, and you can’t figure out how to feel about it.

He’ll wrap an arm around your waist, or play absentmindedly with your fingers, or brush a casual touch against your face, and your heart will swell as your stomach twists itself into knots. James is a tactile person. You’ve seen him exchange casual touches with his friends, with his teammates—hell, sometimes even with random classmates. That kind of closeness doesn’t come naturally to you, though some part of you seems to crave it; all it takes is James brushing his hand against yours and you’re fighting the urge to rub up against him like a cat, even as your brain buzzes with nervous static.

So the feeling isn’t entirely unfamiliar when you’re doing homework in his room and James' hand finds your thigh. Every nerve in your being fires up instantly, but you do your best not to tense. One glance at James lets you know he’s done it without noticing, the entirety of his focus still on the parchment in front of him even as his thumb starts to rub a slow, soothing back-and-forth on your leg.

You try to remember to breathe, letting yourself acclimate to the sensation, and return your attention to your own work. Except, not really. Every movement of James' large hand makes a mockery of your feeble attempts at concentration. The barest pressure of his thumb as it sweeps over your thigh, the way his pinkie finger makes a tiny indentation in your fat, the tiny shifting of the ligaments in his hand as he adjusts his grip. It’s almost imperceptible, but not to you. Right now, you doubt a speck of dust could blow by without you noticing it.

Times like this, you envy James for the security he so obviously feels around touching and being touched. Being with him—being loved and admired by him—has helped you make slow progress in feeling better about yourself, and you resent the years you spent dreading someone feeling the chub of your thighs or seeing the softness of your stomach. James makes physical contact look so easy, you know it’d never occur to him that anyone else could struggle with it. He’d been nothing but sweet and respectful when you’d startled at his hands on you during the first couple of weeks you’d been dating, promising to take things more slowly, but he’d only thought you were jumpy. James probably couldn’t fathom that every time he palms the fat around your ribs or hauls you towards him gripping your hips, images of his disgust with you form, unbidden but crystal-clear, in your mind’s eye.

You’re trying to shove those images back into the cobwebby recesses of your consciousness they came from when James fingers start to toy absentmindedly with the divots in your inner thigh.

You inhale sharply.

James turns to you, his eyes moving from your horrified face to the movement of his fingers on your leg.

“Oh, sorry,” he laughs. “I didn’t even realize I’d grabbed you.” He gives you an apologetic squeeze, and you flinch slightly, instantly sorry as James’ eyes widen and he removes his hand. “Shit, am I hurting you?”

His eyes rove your legs, searching for bruises or something else to explain your pained reaction, and you’re so used to him looking at you that by now it shouldn’t bother you, but between his fingers on your warped inner thigh and the awkwardness that’s resulted from your reaction, it’s too much. His gaze feels like it’s scorching you.

“No,” you say quickly. “No, I’m sorry, I’m fine.”

James’s eyes move back to your face,and relief has you thinking more clearly despite his befuddled expression. He tilts his head like a puppy. “Sorry, Jamie, it’s just—” you suck in a bracing breath, knowing he deserves an explanation but also knowing there’s no way this isn’t going to be humiliating. “No one’s ever touched my stretch marks before, and I kind of flipped out. Sorry.”

James blinks. “I haven’t touched them before now?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s been a mistake.”

“James, don’t.” You can’t look at him. You want nothing more than for this conversation to be over, and it’s your fault it’s happening at all. If you’d just been able to keep your reaction in check…

“Don’t what, sweetheart?” James’ tone is jovial, but there’s a bit of challenge in there. It’s not one you intend to rise to meet. “They’re lovely.”

“They’re…” Ugly. Blemishes. Proof that you’ve never had the kind of perfect, athletic body James does. “They’re embarrassing.”

“Angel, no,” James sounds so heartbroken you wonder if he’s somehow heard everything else you’d really wanted to say, and then his hand is under your jaw, encouraging your head up until your eyes meet his, warm and brown and lovely. “They’re just you. You know this scar?” he rolls up his sleeve, revealing the tiny white line on his arm from when he’d fallen off his broom and his bone had jutted out his second year.

“Yeah,” you say warily.

“Do you think it’s embarrassing?”

You feel your eyebrows furrow, immediately defensive. “Of course not. But that’s different.”

“It’s not,” he says, with a firmness you don’t expect from him. “You think I give a shit if you’ve got some marks on you? They’re just proof that your body’s been lived in. And I happen to like you and your body, so have some respect, please.” James grins. You’re softening, and he knows it. “Plus, they’re great for traction.”

Now it’s your turn to be confused. “What do you mean?”

Wordlessly, he grips your thighs in two big hands, digging his thumbs into the stripes along the insides, and yanks you into his lap. You release a squeal, and James swallows it readily, pressing his mouth to yours as he lets the tops of his thumbnails skim gently over the indents in your skin. You blame it on the friction, but that’s where the warmth starts; in the flawed insides of your thighs, making its way to your core until you’re molten and brainless under James’ touch.

“See?” he murmurs against your lips. “They’re not just for looks, they’re useful too.”

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter fluff #james potter hurt/comfort #james potter h/c #james potter smut #james potter imagine #james potter fanfiction #james potter fanfic #james potter fic #james potter drabble #james potter oneshot #james potter scenario #james x you #james x y/n #marauders #marauders era #hp marauders #hp

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rookthorne · 1 year

Text

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐀 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠

Superheroes came in many different shapes and forms. Yours just happened to be a man with dark hair, blue eyes, a warm smile, and scrubs.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ღ Nurse!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ღ 825

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ღ Fluff, comfort, hospital stay, sick fic

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ღ Well, this was cathartic. It was originally just going to be a moodboard and then it turned into a drabble.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 ღ Hearing by Sleeping At Last

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 ღ @the-slumberparty Week 2 Creation Challenge — Masterlist

𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑴𝑶𝑴𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑹 ღ 𝒂𝒏 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆.

𝐀 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

It wasn’t that you wanted to be stuck in a hospital room, no–it was the fact that your body, even after the best of care, still failed to maintain any kind of normalcy.

The constant beeps from the monitors around your bed lulled you into a fitful sleep that ended far too soon with shift change starting. There were hushed voices at your door doing handover and you stirred, shifting in your sleepy daze to look at the small window in your door, only to smile happily at who was looking straight back at you.

Bucky. Your favourite nurse who took care of you every single trip to this dreaded place. He was easily the most charming and handsome fella you’d ever met, and here you were, looking like hot garbage. You cursed whoever was listening for that particular turn of events.

The door opened slowly, allowing the bright lights of the hallway to flood into your dark room. You heard him call goodnight to Wanda, your day nurse, and he entered, smiling happily while he switched a softer light on.

“Hey, doll,” Bucky whispered, walking straight towards your IV pole, a bag of saline in his hand, your charts in the other. “How’s my favourite patient doing?”

“Absolutely fantastic,” you croaked.

Bucky chuckled and moved his hair behind his ear before he leant forwards, penlight in hand. You groaned loudly in protest and Bucky clicked his tongue. “I know it sucks,” he offered, frowning slightly. “But show me those pretty eyes of yours.”

Shock froze you in place and you looked up at him - he was smirking. “You smug asshole,” you grumbled, and Bucky laughed.

A temperature check was next, and for better or for worse, you were still delirious and half asleep. “Alright, your arm, please, madam,” Bucky said, a phoney British lilt to his voice. You pouted, but offered your cannula free hand to him. “Atta girl.”

“Y’know,” you started. “You’re hot.”

The beep of the thermometer echoed in the silence while he just stared at you, a brow raised in amusement. “Am I?”

“Yeah, you are, the thingy,” you gestured at the thermometer in his hand, completely forgetting what it was, “wouldn’t even be able to register how hot you are.”

Bucky snorted and put the thermometer down to record something on your chart. “Remind me to come into your room when you’re this tired, doll. You’re cute when you speak your mind.”

Reality suddenly dawned on you and your eyes widened. “Did I really just say that?”

“You did, yep,” Bucky chuckled.

Your vitals check went smoothly, if you didn’t count the little hiccup of calling your nurse hot. There were no drastic changes which, much to your surprising disappointment, meant you could be discharged home soon, and that meant not seeing Bucky, even in the shitty circumstances.

“How are you, Bucky? Still runnin’ round breakin’ hearts?” You asked around a yawn.

Bucky looked down at you fondly, hidden amongst the cocoon of blankets and pillows. He grabbed hold of the IV line that was attached to the cannula in your hand, and adjusted the speed of the flow. “Nope,” he said. “When I’m not here, I spend my time back in my apartment with my cat. She runs a tight ship.”

“What’s her name?” You asked sleepily, blinking up at him. Bucky went to answer but you hissed in pain when you moved your hand, the long IV line had caught on the bed rail and dislodged the cannula. Saline dripped steadily from the broken connection and you tried in vain to mop it up.

“Oh, doll, hang on,” Bucky rushed, his gloved hands grabbing yours with such gentleness and care. “Let’s fix that up.”

“It’s that damn saline,” you whined. Reattaching a cannula was an annoyance, but having Bucky so close wasn’t so bad - he smelt so comforting, all of your favourite scents rolled into one, and his presence was even more so.

“I know, I know,” Bucky soothed, working away at the dislodged cannula. “Whatever will I do to make it up to you, doll?”

Fuck it, you thought. “Get me a warm blanket and Introduce me to your cat.”

Bucky looked up from your hand, his lips quirked in a knowing smirk and a mischievous glint in his eyes even the low light showed. “Alright,” he said, smoothing down the tape that secured the cannula in place. “That shouldn’t hurt anymore.” Slowly, he stood, but he didn’t let go of your hand.

Embarrassment flooded you and you opened your mouth to backtrack, but a squeeze to your hand stopped you. Bucky was still smirking. “Alpine would love you.”

When you were eventually discharged, a piece of paper with a neat scrawl of, ‘your favourite asshole’ and a phone number was tucked into the pockets of your pants, and you felt like you had landed on the moon.

It paid off to shoot your shot, after all.

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes fluff #navy and roo's sleepover #rookthorne's works #ASWT

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lunarw0rks · 6 months

Note

Rachel!!

the way you wrote "Interruptions" 🤟🏼😪-

I've seen what you've done for other people and I want that too.

Please sir can I have more Alejandro x f!reader thots and feelings.

Make it nasty only the way you do.

a/n: sorry, this has been sitting in my inbox for weeks. hope you enjoy what i decided to write! I had a plus-sized reader in mind for this, but it's not a major part of it. the language is still inclusive!

PACIFY | ALEJANDRO VARGAS

⊹。°˖➴ Synopsis: Hooking up with your ex means you're still separated, doesn't it?

⊹。°˖➴ Pairing: Alejandro Vargas x Fem!reader

⊹。°˖➴ Warning(s): nsfw (18+), exes to lovers, ex!husband!Alejandro, mild angst, smut, oral sex (r.), p/v (unsafe) sex, slight dom/sub dynamics, breeding, kinda??/talk of pregnancy, tension w/ happy ending | W.C: 2.6k

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ ALEJANDRO MASTERLIST ──── ☆ read "Interruptions" here!

You tried your best not to think about him.

Not because of ill-treatment or the bickering. Your wounds were still too fresh. His schedule was too unpredictable, more than the gamble he took every time he left home. At first, you were convinced you could handle that life — wondering if your husband would come home in a body bag every time he ships off.

It was easier this way. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, the breakup was mutual. The phone call he got in the middle of the goodbye was ironic enough; yet another relationship milestone interrupted by his tireless career.

The low heels you wore clicked against the pavement; your brows furrowed as you reviewed an important email. The expression of disdain had become a permanent picture on your face ever since you two split.

You'd never admit it out loud, but you missed being taken care of.

Being alone wasn't all it was cracked up to be. And, because of your own stubbornness, you were reluctant to accept any more of his financial help. That meant rent and a search for better employment, which was no easy task.

But you got lucky today. An offer for a decent job; one you could budget properly with. With a chew of your lip, you pressed send and opened your car door, awaiting his reply.

You: Need to pick up my laptop.

The text was simple enough, but nothing ever was, was it? Instead of a message chime, your phone vibrated. His name flashed on the screen underneath 'incoming' and you could feel your eyes roll before you told them to.

Raising it to your ear, you huffed. Before you could get a word in, he spoke first. "It's nice to hear you breathe." Alejandro's voice comes through the static, reminding you of how audible your attitude had been. You didn't mean to be, but a text reply would have done the trick.

"Did you see my text?" You ignore his snide humor, tapping your fingers along your car window.

"Of course, I did. It's against the law to call my wife?" He chuckles and you feel as though he's with you; the mornings lying beside one another, his worlds tickling your eardrum.

Ex-wife, not wife. It wasn't official yet, but that was a habit you were still determined he break. "Do you know where my laptop is, or am I wasting my time, Alejandro?" You ask, shifting with impatience.

"Always so eager," he clicked his tongue, "it's in your old office. See? No need for dramatics." You rolled your eyes again, this time voluntarily.

As if he wasn't the mascot for melodrama.

You were completely dreading this short trip. For now, all you could rely on was the little voice assuring you you'd be 'in and out' of there within minutes.

It was only when you stood on the porch, that you realized you forgot to take the doormat as well. You urged yourself to remember that when you were out of here in five minutes. A petty realization, but a realization, nonetheless.

The oversized front door swings open, and there he is. "You don't need to dress up for me, amor. You hate me, remember?" He let out a tsk, shamelessly looking you up and down.

With a wave of your hand, you stepped inside without waiting for him to move. "I don't hate you, and you shouldn't joke about that, Ale." It was true; you didn't hate him, not even a little bit. His facetious humor was only amusing when it didn't inspire guilt.

Ignoring the pang in your chest, you said, "I had a job interview, hence the outfit." You glance at the living space, still familiar despite its void of all your belongings. "That's why I need my computer; then I'll be out of your hair."

His hair did look nice. Still silky and trimmed from a recent barber visit, you'd assume. His essence smacked you in the face, the suave cologne and aftershave — as if he'd cleaned up purely to tempt you.

Never would you give him the courtesy of admitting his success. Not verbally.

You walk toward the hall in the way of the office, but his arm stops you. Hovering over your abdomen, it's then you realize how close he'd gotten. "I put it on the table. Saves you the trip, no?" Another sarcastic comment. Big surprise.

"Ah, my savior, saving me the fifteen steps into the office," you match his tone, indeed spotting the laptop and charger left on the breakfast table.

It's not a bad favor, these heels couldn't have been less comfortable. He chuckles a bit, as if dismissing you, but never removes his arm. It lingers there, eventually giving your hip a squeeze. Not possessively, not carnally — it's an attention-grab.

"Forgive me, cariño, I know I've been..." He cuts himself off early, regathering his scrambled thoughts. "You look good. Today and— and always. I'm happy for you."

You raise a brow subtly, instinctively mellowing your voice. "For what? The job?"

"Something like that," Alejandro replies with a shield of vagueness, rubbing the flesh he'd squeezed. You hadn't moved despite how close he was. And it was more than the position you'd taken; so much more.

You open your mouth to retort again but fall short. "Listen, Alejandro..." He continued fondling your hip, slowing to a stop when you began speaking, tilting his head.

The rest of your words refuse to come out under the scrutiny of his warmth, and he knows it. You shift around a bit, feeling vulnerable the longer you stare at one another — how many words are being said with one abiding look.

His lips ghosted over your temple, the tip of his nose against your hair. Alejandro breathed in the scent of your shampoo, getting remnants of your perfume. Two smells he missed, more than he'd care to admit out loud.

By night two of you were gone your pillow was void of it. Right now, it was like savoring your scent all over again — while you were looking your best.

Your tense shoulders relaxed, falling into old habits when your head leaned against him. "I should be going," you breathed your words, a slight hitch in your breathing from the contact. It wasn't like the feelings and desires faded the moment you split; they were as fresh as the wounds.

A hushed dismissal enters your ear in a purr, sending chills across your body. His breath roams down the side of your face, wrapping around until it reaches your lips. “Do it for me.”

It’s akin to the first time you hooked up. His lips swallow yours, a moan escaping you when his tongue swirls around. You turn to face him fully and cup his cheeks, “we shouldn’t be doing this.” Despite your protests, you don’t fight another kiss.

“It’s our house, isn’t it?” You only nod into his shoulder, rocking your hips under his touch. Alejandro’s palms run down your shoulder blades to your tailbone, giving your rear a squeeze. “Answer me, cariño.”

"Yes." You whisper, pressing your lips against his jaw, urging his roaming hands to end their pause.

Caring about right and wrong fleeted to the back of your mind, while he moved to the front of it — consuming every passing thought you'd had of him for months.

His hands resumed after a hum of approval, while yours worked at unbuttoning the stuffy shirt you were wearing. Eventually, you gave them a yank, not paying any mind to the fabric fraying. The warmth from your skin could practically be felt, feeling free once you were left in a bra.

Through the kiss, he took steps backward while you followed at his mercy. He backed through the doorway of the master bedroom, keeping you connected by the lips.

The bedroom welcomed you, as did the bed you were being pushed into. Once sleek and cornered, now wrinkled sheets beneath you as you squirmed. “Missed seeing you like this,” his lips caressed your navel, traveling south as he pulled off your bottoms, rolling them down your legs.

He lay between them, giving glances through his lashes. His arms hooked around your thighs, keeping the squirms to a minimum. You reached down and ran your fingers over his hand, “Alejandro.” You weren’t sure why you said it either; he hadn’t even gotten started. It was more of a declaration than a gripe.

His stubble tickled along your inner thighs, hot breath on your core the closer he leaned in. “Do you want me to stop?” He sneered after you’d whined his name again, a smirk tugging the corner of his mouth. The answer was no, and you weren’t sure how to feel about that; it was like he had you under his spell all over again.

You despised being so weak for him, but that’s just how you liked it. Your body told the story, quivering and wet from the mere ghost of his breath on your heat.

“No, I don’t want you to stop. But, we—” You declared with the remainder of your willpower, and that was all he needed to hear. With the rustling of some sheets and a dizzying spin, you were on your stomach. Even after all this time, he managed to leave you stunned and needing more than what you were given.

He hooks his fingers around the waistband of your panties and tugs at them, making you twitch from the intensity. After his direction, you’re on your hands and knees, gazing down at the familiar sheets. The hands redirecting you aren’t rough or mean; they’re salacious.

“The thorn in my side.” His chuckle is a mock, cut off a lick on your core. “If only she could see herself now.” Your reaction, as small as a shudder, did more than enough to prove his point. You squeeze the silky sheets, suddenly feeling the intensity of his mouth on your pussy. He angled himself underneath you, tilting his head to swirl around your sensitive clit.

You jolted forward, instinctively clenching your thighs shut. Alejandro’s buff hands worked quickly, prying them open once more so he could enter you with his tongue.

His head bobbed in a fluid motion, the messy slurps growing louder throughout the room. You couldn’t leave it at this; if you were going to be pathetic, you were dragging him down with you. Your attempt was risible when you said his name again — attempting to sound firm, despite ripping at the seams from only his foreplay.

A pitiful plea is muttered from your lips, halting his feral tongue. “Hm? You’re making demands now?” His tongue clicks and they are obvious jeers, daring you to roll over and slip your pants back on. But, of course, you didn’t. You were no match for his natural charm; the reason you were in this damn situation at all.

The stars must have been aligned that night because his banter didn’t worsen. His ferocious mouth ceased entirely, and several seconds passed with some shuffling around. For a moment, you were expecting to flip around and find him fleeing from his own bedroom.

Until his palm collided with your ass, a ceaseless sting radiating off the pricked flesh. Before you could do so much as a jolt, Alejandro clutched your hip to hold you in place. “You may boss me around out there, cariño—” his other hand gripped the base of his cock, abruptly filling you with every inch, “—but not here.”

If it weren’t for his fingertips digging like daggers, you would’ve fallen face-first into the mattress. His thrusts were sharp and paced, messily lubricated by his saliva that he hadn’t bothered to lap up.

You wanted to scowl at his cockiness. But he was right. If there were a mirror, you’d see how craven he turned you.

His hips clashed with your backside, a constant slap echoing throughout the room — and surely the rest of the abode. You mewled beneath him, figuring it was better to savor the pleasure while you still had it. There were few things that went right in your marriage; intimacy was one of them, no denying it.

Your body knew it, and deep down so did your mind. Though, even when he was deep inside you it was tempting to bicker, you knew you wouldn’t get much of a sentence out. Alejandro knew all of your sweet spots, which ones to caress and which ones to exploit.

When your back tensed into an arch, his length hit even deeper. “Ángel, what’s wrong? Can’t relax when I’m inside you?” He leaned forward, chest against your curved back to ensure his words resonated deep within your ears.

As much as you cursed yourself, you nodded weakly. The warmth of his breath on your ear disappeared. Following, his palm rested between your shoulder blades, nudging you forward until only your hips were raised; a position that left you an undeniably gladded mess.

He quickened his pace but continued to bottom out inside you, slinking an arm around to stimulate your clit. His fingers spread you apart, matching the whirlpool motion to the intensity of his thrusts. “You’re close, nena.” It nearly sounded like a warning; could have been, if you weren’t clenching around him so tight.

Considering he hadn’t hooked up with anyone in months, you were actively draining his restraint. His stamina prevailed — but his willpower? Not so much. Alejandro’s ab muscles constricted tight, burning from the strain of rutting into you. And you, currently enduring the clutter of an approaching climax; that coil tightening, the rough pads of his digits, his deep fill of you.

It all hit you at once, your fists balled into the sheets as you felt the sensations overtake you. Your walls quivered around him, propelling him into his own climax. As your ears buzzed, you faintly heard his raspy ramblings that he pumped through. His thrusts slowed but remained deep as you milked him dry.

Alejandro muttered a curse and pulled out of you, pressing a kiss to your jawline. Some things never change. As the pleasure fizzled, you recognized the tepid sensation of his raw finish. The repercussions of him finishing inside you should’ve been more daunting, but they weren’t.

You attempted to flip over but he’d quickly settled beside you, caging you with his chest against your back. “Was that okay?” He mumbled against your warm skin as wet lips pecked your shoulder a few times.

His voice alone nearly drew a shiver, growing especially hoarse during pillow talk. “Which part?” You breathed, instinctively tracing your fingers along his scarred arms. Your words were half sarcasm, while the other part of you was still catching up.

“Very funny,” you could feel his smile against your flesh, followed by the slight nip of his front teeth. “You know what I mean. This. Wouldn’t be so bad, hm? A family?”

Part of you wished a wave of regret would wash over you, with waves thick enough to thrash some sense into you. They never came. Something felt right about being tangled in bed again; foreign but right.

“No,” you murmured, catching the last of your breath. “It wouldn’t be. But, I thought you hated being bossed around? You think our baby wouldn’t do the same?”

Alejandro snickered and massaged the hip flesh he left slightly bruised, “Only by you.” You gave his bicep a light knock, and he physically saw the spark return to your eyes. The one you had before all the petty resentment and venom.

Whether or not parenthood was a fix meant little; there was no denying your chemistry.

If anything, tonight was a breakthrough — despite its unconventional beginning. Through all the new unknowns, there was one thing you knew for sure. You weren’t going anywhere.

₊˚⊹♡ ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝ divider cred. - cafekitsune

#mw2 #call of duty #mw2 fanfic #mw2 alejandro #alejandro vargas x reader #alejandro cod #alejandro vargas #alejandro vargas smut #alejandro mw2 #alejandro vargas x you #alejandro x reader #los vaqueros #task force 141

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jo-harrington · 9 months

Text

Interview Prep (Eddie Munson x Store Manager!Reader)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader is worried about making a change to some routines.

Previous Part: Standard Operating Procedures 1.03

Warnings/Themes: AU where the Upside Down doesn't terrorize Hawkins. Reader works at the Claire's at StarCourt. Eddie works at TapeWorld. Mutual Pining and Slow Burn, Meeting the Family, Anxiety, Fluff

Note: Special thanks to @chestylarouxx @fracturedarkness and @courtingchaos for reading my snippets, listening to my rambling, and easing my nerves with this one. It's been in my drafts since February! And it's always kind of eluded me, but it's very special so I appreciate the time you took to help me out. So so much.

You can find my masterlist here for more featuring our resident Store Manager and all of my other writing.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

“…and I swear the sound is so much better than my Fender. Like a thousand times better. I’m gonna need a new amp, I think. She is way too good for that hunk of junk that Rick got from his buddy way back when.”

“Uh huh.”

“God, I wish you could come to a show to hear it. Maybe...maybe I can ask Tom at the Hideout if our set could be a little later one night so you could come out after the store closed?"

"Sure."

“And then we could get pickle and bologna milkshakes at Benny's afterwards."

"Sounds great."

"Am I boring you?” Eddie finally stopped as he hit the button on the bailer and put his hands on his hips. "You're not even listening."

“What?” You freed yourself from your thoughts and got a good look at him. "I...what? No."

It was break time, which meant cardboard got crushed and garbage tossed before you ventured into the food court for something to eat. And on a day like today when your schedules aligned, that also meant your break was spent with your closest friend--only friend--in Hawkins.

And on any other day, you would have happily listened to his story.

Hell, you actually had listened to him...for most of it at least--he boasted about his new guitar, how he named her Sweetheart, and her first actual performance outside of Gareth's garage that had occurred the night prior--before you got too caught up in your own head.

It had been a normal Wednesday when you got to the store for your opening shift. The registers were counted, gate pushed up, and you were about to confidently post the new schedule.

Then the mail was delivered.

And with it, a larger envelope from home office that contained a very hefty packet inside.

Normally a package like that would make you happy; it was a sign that one of your favorite weeks of the year was approaching: planogram week. It was, quite honestly, not only your favorite week but your favorite part of the job altogether. More than your team, more than your discount...certainly more than helping customers.

Summer was coming to an end, which meant all of the trendy accessories would make way for backpacks, water bottles, notebooks, and lunch boxes. Things that stayed hidden away for 75% of the year, but were suddenly at the forefront of every parent and pre-teen's mind as they got ready to look their best on the first day of school.

Today, however, you suddenly felt a sense of dread as you opened the package because a planogram meant that you would have to schedule an overnight shift on the one night of the week that the mall closed early.

Sunday Night.

Date Night with Eddie.

Eddie's favorite night. And yours.

Your favorite part of your job encroached on what was becoming an essential part of your life.

So you spiraled until your break because it was easier to worry and overthink than it was to just...communicate the fact that you might have to miss a Sunday and face the possibility that Eddie could be mad at you.

Unfortunately he seemed a little steamed right now because he thought you hadn't been listening to him.

His little grumpy face was cute though.

Why was this harder than having to call your team to ask if they were ok with an unexpected overnight shift? God damn it, you needed to get a grip.

“You weren’t listening to anything I said,” he repeated.

“Yes I was,” you insisted.

“What did I say then?”

“You nailed the solo.”

“And…”

“And you actually got a round of applause.”

“And?”

“And you need a new amp.”

“And?”

“Uhm… a-and…”

Shit…maybe you had delved a little bit too far.

Growing up with a big, loud family--including an overbearing mother and two annoying brothers--meant you had the innate ability to split your brain in half and listen to them while also worrying about your own shit.

However, thanks to the intensity of your worrying, that ability failed you.

You wracked your brain for a good 30 seconds until Eddie’s scowl turned into a wicked smile, and then you knew he was just being a jerk.

“You’re the worst,” you grumbled at him.

“Excuse me,” he placed a hand on his chest in fake affront and stumbled back a few steps to collapse against the side of the trash compactor. “I'm the worst? You agreed to Pickle and Bologna milkshakes and ignored your best friend. Not very metal, sweetheart."

"I just have a lot on my mind." You shook your head and sighed. "Sorry."

"Well it's a good thing that I am a great listener. Unlike someone."

Eddie pushed himself off the compactor, put his hand on your shoulder, and guided you back inside to the food court. You got your meals of choice and tucked yourselves into a table in the corner by the JCPenney entrance.

"Alright," he started with his mouth full of fries. "Tell dear old Eddie what's bothering you."

You swallowed a mouthful of food and took a deep breath.

It was now or never.

"Well...there's this big thing coming up at work...planogram...uh...floor set," you began. "And it's really important and after it's done...we'll get visitors from corporate and my boss will probably make a few visits to see how it's going. I just want to do really well."

"Well, you've been doing a good job so far right?" Eddie shrugged. "Why wouldn't they think so now?"

"I don't know, I don't wanna mess it up," you admitted. "I'm a new store manager. And a lot of the team never worked retail before. I literally cried my first floor set as a sales associate. It's tough."

"You're just giving yourself the yips. I do it all the time when we add a new song to the set list."

"Don't just say that to make me feel better."

"Last week I forgot how to do a G-chord," he crossed his heart. "Scouts honor."

"You were a Boy Scout?" you asked skeptically.

"Stop distracting me." He popped another French fry in his mouth in an exaggerated fashion. "What else?"

"Well...we have to schedule floor sets on a Sunday."

"Ok."

"After the store closes."

"...Oh."

"Yeah."

Eddie sipped his drink thoughtfully and stared at you with his abyss-like eyes; they didn't betray a single thought going through his head and it made you nervous.

And nervous meant that you didn't shut up.

"I mean I don't want to have to cancel our night out," you started with the word vomit. "It's just the way things are always done and you'll see one day if you still work at Tape World for long enough, that's one of those things that...I don't know, if you try to do things differently it always comes back to bite you in the ass.

"And I'm young and whenever we have a conference call to talk about sales...my DM doesn't let me forget that I'm a baby compared to everyone else and it's so frustrating because I feel like I can't even suggest anything new because it immediately is dismissed as naive. It's like they keep waiting for me to fail. So I wish...I wish I could make a change so we could keep our plans. Like if it was anything else I could make it work but I...this thing I just can't, you know?

"But...but...b-because I would have to work on Sunday overnight I would probably be off another day so if you're ok with it we can do something else? Maybe on...I don't think I could get Tuesday off because of everyone's availability...maybe Friday if your friends are cool with me crashing your club night. Or...you open on Saturdays. We could do Saturday night instead?"

The punctuation to the drawn out sentence was your labored breath and Eddie noisily sucking the dregs of his soda through the straw. Shithead that he was didn't even have the decency to do anything but continue watching you with his big dumb cute eyes.

"Weeellllll..." he started in a sing-song tone and then paused and sucked at the straw some more.

Could he just tell you to fuck off already so this wouldn't be as painful as it was?

"That really sucks you need to work overnight," he finished his thought with a grin and shoved his cup to the side. "Being in the mall after hours...sounds kinda creepy. Do you think there are ghosts?"

"Are you kidding me right now?" you deadpanned. "You let me go on and on like that for nothing?"

"It was funny."

"I hate you."

"You cherish me."

"It was painful." You groaned. "Like I think I'm sweating. My heart hurts Edward."

"Don't act like you've never let me do that before," he scoffed and rolled his eyes in an exaggerated fashion. You threw a fry at him. "Don't start what you can't finish sweetheart. One fry can turn into a food fight and I would hate to find out the hard way why I'm Hawkins High's food fighting champion."

"Ok so...Saturday night?" you asked. "This Saturday...are you doing anything?"

"Uh..." Eddie hesitated and sat up a little straighter. "I mean...no hot dates or anything. What did you have in mind?"

"Maybe just what we normally do?" you suggested. "Drive around, eat a bunch of junk food. Or if you want to come over to my place and I--"

"So, I have a confession to make," he interrupted you. "I actually do have plans on Saturday. More like...standing plans than anything. My uncle Wayne is off on Saturdays and we've always watched reruns on TV and ordered pizza. Family night or whatever. My mom used to do the same thing so...Wayne thought it would be...I dunno, good for stability or something.

"It's silly but I don't want to just ditch him without asking," Eddie explained and your heart melted.

Of course you didn't want to take time away from his family; you knew how important his uncle was to him.

"Oh...well that's ok...we can rain check for another day then or--"

"Why don't you just come over?" Eddie asked. "He won't mind. I am opening this Saturday so I'll be done by 5; you can get there in time for Wheel of Fortune. That way he can't yell at me when I try to solve the puzzles with lewd words." He mimics, what you assume is, Wayne's voice.

Eddie looked so eager that you immediately agreed.

Your heart stopped in your chest though.

Come over? And meet his uncle?

Sure...you'd already met Benny a few weeks ago...and yeah you'd thought of it like meeting someone from Eddie's family but...this was his actual family. What if you insulted his uncle or...or made yourself look stupid.

You needed to put your best foot forward. Make a good impression.

"How about..." your mouth started moving before your brain could catch up. "...instead of ordering pizza, I cook for you guys instead? I'll be off Saturday since I'm doing the overnight on Sunday. I can just bring everything over."

Eddie's eyes lit up and as he teased you about the impressive cooking skills that you had supposedly boasted about previously, all you could think was...

How did this situation get even more stressful?

---

The rest of the week leading up to Saturday had been overwhelming to say the least.

To you, food was life. Cooking for someone was everything that you could do to show them that you cared. How many hours had you spent with your grandma making cookies for neighbors at Christmas, or freezer meals when a distant relative had a baby, or a tray of something after a friend of the family had passed.

Food was love and friendship, and as much as what you had done for Eddie with the guitar had been a show of friendship...this meant so much more.

So you needed to hit a home run...or a bullseye...or whatever sports terminology signified that you won.

Which meant you'd spent some down time flipping through your grandma's old recipes that she had gifted you once upon a time--a thin, pocket-sized spiral notebook with a purple cover that was filled with her illegible handwriting and personal shorthand--and thinking of ideas that would be both impressive and hearty. You'd already changed your mind twice, and had made just as many trips to Bradleys for extra ingredients.

You'd also pestered Eddie several times through the course of the week to get his input without giving anything away.

"Does your uncle like cheese?"

"Of course he does."

"Some people don't."

"Would we get pizza every Saturday if we didn't like cheese?"

"There's some pizza that doesn't have cheese."

"Why the questions? Are you nervous sweetheart?"

And that was when he started to tease you. Every chance he got. Lunches, breaks, passing you on the way to the employee lot as you started a shift and he ended one.

He asked if you wanted their phone number so you could call Wayne and make kissy noises at each other for hours, if you wanted him to bring love letters home to save on stamps, and if you were planning to dress really nice for your date with his uncle.

"I'll be sure to grab extra chapstick for him so his lips are ready for you tomorrow," he laughed and leaned closer to make the biggest, noisiest smacking kiss noise in your ear as you waited for your break time cookies.

"You're an idiot," you rolled your eyes after he uttered the last one. "I don't want him to hate me because...what if he doesn't want me to hang around you anymore. I'd kind of lose my mind."

"Oh, uh," Eddie backed away a little bit and rubbed the back of his neck, then shoved his hands in his back pockets. "Wayne wouldn't do that. He's...a little bit of a grump, but he's harmless."

"Guess we know where you got it from," you muttered.

"I didn't know you were...actually worried," Eddie continued. "I'm sorry. But it'll be ok. Even if you...wore a potato sack and brought canned beans that we had to heat on the stove for dinner. He'll think you're great. Because you are."

You were both a little silent after that, Eddie staring at his feet bashfully as you felt your heart race and your head spin.

You finalized your plans that night when you got home and immediately started on your dessert, sure that it was all gonna be a hit with both Munsons.

It was gonna be great. Because Eddie thought you were great.

And Saturday, the doubt didn't creep on you at all. Not while you cooked, not as you packed your casserole dish and Tupperware into a large cooler bag, and not even as you drove across town, following Eddie's directions to Forest Hills without getting lost once.

It wasn't until you stepped out of your car and stared at the front door that you felt your stomach drop a little.

Those four cement steps might as well have been a thousand.

But...your sneakers only needed to crunch on the gravel before the door was thrown open and a slightly-breathless Eddie smiled at you...and then all the worry disappeared.

"Hey," he greeted. "D-did you need any help?"

"Yeah, if you don't mind," you shrugged.

He jogged down the steps in socked-feet and crossed to the passenger's side door of your car, talking a mile a minute as he reached in to grab your things.

"I, uh, got home an hour ago," he rambled. "The A/C at the store conked out...and then Paulie had me make a trash run before I left. Had a big shipment today. So if I'm still a little sweaty...that's why."

"You're fine," you laughed.

"Sorry."

"Don't worry. I've been cooking so I'm probably a little sweaty too. Lasagna and July...sort of don't go together that well."

He raced up the steps and held the door open for you.

"Lasagna? Oh the old man is gonna love you," Eddie chuckled.

You entered the Munson abode and were immediately hit by the strongest sense of home that you'd felt since...well, since you'd still been at home. Not necessarily that it was a place where you belonged, but...it was a place of belonging.

Mugs and hats and other memorabilia lined the walls, reminiscent of the tchotchkes that your mother stacked to high heaven on every available surface. The couch was a little faded but looked comfortable and soft as though you could sink into the cushions and disappear into a soft nether-realm.

Your grandpa had a couch like that. His spot sunk to the shape of his body. It was still your favorite place to sit when he wasn't already there. It was like a hug.

That was when your eyes found the armchair, molded around the shape of the man seated in it. He was older, a little weathered and greying, hairline receding, and even though he isn't smiling right now, the lines around his mouth were indication enough that he smiled quite a bit.

Just like his nephew.

"Uh, Wayne this is my friend from the mall," Eddie introduced you as he juggled your cooler bag and your large Tupperware to the kitchen counter. "The one I told you about. Works at the jewelry store."

"Nice to meet you," you smiled and held a hand out to him to shake. He took your hand in a firm grasp and as you shook his the way your grandfather taught you--to command respect and trust--his eyes narrowed.

"I had to hear about you through Rick, who heard about you through Benny," Wayne started. "And I haven't the slightest idea why my nephew thought he needed to keep you a secret; not the first girlfriend he's brought around--"

Eddie groaned something unintelligible from the kitchen and you fought the urge to break eye contact with Wayne so you could look at him.

"--but I just watched him run around for the past hour tidying up. And he's never done that before. So if you can help him keep the habit, you're alright in my book." Wayne smiled widely and let your hand go.

"Thank you," you chuckled nervously, suddenly realizing how silly it had been that you were even worried in the first place.

Eddie had been right.

You could never admit that to him.

"Even did the dishes," Wayne looked past you at Eddie. "He never does the dishes."

"W-we're having dinner," Eddie whined. "Gotta have clean plates."

The two of them bantered back and forth comfortably and you joined Eddie in the kitchen to get everything plated. There was a salad, buttery mashed potatoes, and of course your still-warm and gooey lasagna.

Eddie explained that it was Wayne's favorite that he rarely got to have homemade--

"Stoffers will do in a pinch," Wayne explained.

--and that you were already more loved than he was simply for making it, to which Wayne agreed. And he even pointed out the well-loved Garfield mug that he had gotten Wayne for Father's Day one year for that fact alone.

Eddie tried to protest when you took the dessert bowl from him to stow it away in the fridge until it was the appropriate time.

"I didn't even get to have cookies with you today," he reasoned. "Or a soda. See? I suffer when you're not working. How am I--a growing boy--supposed to reach my fullest potential without proper sustenance?"

You snorted and brought the plates out to the living area while Eddie trailed behind you.

"He's just grumpy because you're making him eat vegetables," Wayne chuckled as he took his plate. "A feat I have yet to achieve in 8 years. So if you weren't already in my good books, you are now."

Dinner passed relatively uneventfully at first. You and Eddie sat on the couch--which was just as comfy as you thought it would be--as Wayne occupied the armchair. They inhaled their first helping and showered you with compliments. Eddie begrudgingly admitted that your cooking was as good as you had bragged, and even said the dressing on your salad "wasn't Ranch but was still pretty tasty."

As Eddie had told you days ago, Wheel of Fortune started promptly at 7:30 and he and Wayne tried to solve as many puzzles as possible around mouthfuls of food. They teased each other when their guesses were particularly ridiculous, and celebrated when they got one right.

You solved a long puzzle correctly--your only contribution to their little competition--before there were very many tiles revealed on the board and Eddie patted your thigh in praise when you got it right with a soft "that's my girl" that nearly had you drop your plate.

When Wheel ended, Wayne stood up to grab seconds for himself and Eddie and a couple of beers for you all. Before he sat back down he grabbed a tape from a basket beside the television and popped it into the VCR.

"I hope you don't mind," he said sheepishly. "I like the background noise and Love Boat doesn't start til 9."

As the static on the screen cleared, you were treated to a good look of a Map to Illustrate the Ponderosa in Nevada.

"Mind? I love Bonanza," you laughed, and Eddie groaned beside you.

"No I already have to endure Wayne and Rick and their western reruns, and now you too?"

Conversation then turned to you. Turned to the usual stuff that you talked about when you met someone new. And you really...didn't like talking about yourself. The middle child and the only girl with two strong-willed brothers and parents that liked to pick and pick and pick at every imperfection; it was ingrained in you.

Thankfully, Eddie seemed to really like to talk to you, at you, about you.

"I work at Claire's. We do like...ear piercing and cute accessories for kids."

"She works there? She's the store manager. And the youngest one in the company. Right? Is that...no...in the district. Anyway..."

And where you faltered, he picked up the reins.

"I mean it's just community college. Everyone graduates. I'm not smart or anything."

"Are you shitting me right now? Sweetheart I can't even graduate high school."

Eagerly.

"And there was this one time, I shit you not Wayne," Eddie's hands mimed as he tried to tell his story. "She literally balanced on one foot on the top rung of a ladder. Had to have been...20 feet high...to get this kitten that was stuck on top of the bailer. How it got there? I couldn't tell you."

"It was not the top rung."

"It was."

"It wasn't 20 feet!"

"Let me tell the story."

"I'm supposed to be telling the story," you laughed at him.

"Ok, you're right, but you weren't telling it good enough," Eddie argued. "You have to emphasize."

"He means fib," Wayne clarified.

"I mean...bend the truth for entertainment purposes only," Eddie explained rapidly.

Eventually dinner was done and it was time for dessert, which Eddie eagerly followed you into the kitchen for.

"How am I doing?" you asked nervously as you rummaged in the fridge.

"You're doing great. How many times do I have to tell you he would like you?" he huffed good-naturedly.

"I don't know, I just needed reassurance."

"Are you kidding me?" he scoffed. "You're doing great. I'm sure he'll be asking me when the next time you'll be over is so he can maybe get some more lasagna. He doesn't just let anyone watch A Rose for Lotta with him. You're special."

"Am I?"

"You're special to me."

You looked up at Eddie a little shocked and he smiled sheepishly and shrugged.

You couldn't get your hopes up. You just...couldn't.

"What's taking so long in there?" Wayne asked as he ejected the tape from the VCR so he could flip to ABC. You both looked over and found him watching you with a smirk and a twinkle in his eye.

"I dunno," Eddie replied petulantly. "Someone's withholding my reward."

You rolled your eyes and grabbed another set of plates from the drying rack by the sink. You opened your container to reveal the fluffy green mounds of pudding and whipped cream and marshmallows studded with bright maraschino cherries.

"Sweetheart, you didn't," Eddie grabbed you by the shoulders and leaned over to look into the Tupperware.

"I did," you beamed.

The perfect end to a great night.

Because you might not have known that lasagna was Wayne's favorite.

But you knew that Watergate salad was Eddie's.

---

It was late by the time Eddie walked you out to your car, way past your usual bedtime, and later than you should have been up especially considering that you would be doing the overnight tomorrow.

The dessert had been consumed in its entirety; once you and Wayne had your fill, Eddie ate the remainder out of the bowl looking, quite literally, like a kid in a candy store. And as Captain Stubing and Doc Bricker bickered aboard the Pacific Princess, you began dozing on Eddie's shoulder.

He shook you awake and you said your goodbyes to Wayne.

"You're welcome anytime," he insisted as you headed to the door. "Lasagna or no. Don't let Ed trick you into spoiling us. He's still young but my waistband can't handle it."

And now you were standing with Eddie, the driver's side door between you as you sort of refused to get in and drive away. It was a real Midwest Goodbye.

"I'll see you at work..." you fumbled over your words as you tried to think of the next time you'd actually get to see him. You had the overnight tomorrow, and you'd be off Monday. Eddie would be off Tuesday which meant... "Oh god, well...Wednesday? That seems so far away."

"It doesn't have to be Wednesday," Eddie shrugged. "What if I brought you breakfast on Monday? After your floor set is over?"

"God that's gonna be so early for you," you dismissed his idea.

"So? You just made us the best dinner and there's leftovers for a few days, which you didn't want. Let me get you breakfast."

"I don't want to put you out."

The two of you bickered back and forth for a minute before you put your foot down and told him to sleep in because he had to close on Monday night.

"Thanks though," you said. "This was nice. Family dinner at home. It was really nice. Makes me a little homesick but...I guess Hawkins is my home for now."

"Hey, of course, any time," Eddie replied. He looked pensive for a second and then turned so he didn't have to look at you. Like he was hesitant about what you would say or think. "We don't...I mean I guess what I mean is...I really enjoy hanging out on Sundays and I know this is sort of a one-off thing. But...you know we don't only have to hang out on Sundays. We can do...I mean...have dinner again sometimes or meet you after work even if I'm off...or see a movie again...get something from Family Video or..."

"You wanna hang out with me more?" you cut into his rambling.

"Yeah, why not?"

"Friends hang out all the time but..." You shrugged. "Don't...skip out on...I mean I guess I don't know what it is you do with the guys outside of band practice and DnD. Don't skip out on them just for me."

"No, hey now, wait," Eddie held his hand out to stop you. "Those turds already see me all the time and are gonna see me more once school's back in session. And...I'll probably work less so...I'll take any time with you now that I can get."

"Alright." You beamed.

"Alright." He mirrored you. "More non-Sunday hangouts."

You agreed and he held out his pinky. You immediately hooked yours into it.

“See you Wednesday sweetheart,” Eddie said his farewell. “Don’t dream of me too much.”

---

"Alright guys, it's almost 7am, time to clean up," you announced to your overnight crew with a clap of your hands.

It had been a fun but trying night, but ultimately successful.

Saturday had been perfect but your whole Sunday routine had already been thrown off and you spent a majority of your day sleeping and cleaning and wondering what Eddie was getting up to at work.

As you predicted, everyone was more than a little confused by the planogram booklet but you were a patient teacher. Everyone thought they had an eye for store layout until they were faced with twenty shipment boxes of pencil cases and locker decor. You had to talk a few of them down from near-panics several times throughout the night.

Over the course of the floorset, side ponytails became even more askew than normal, a few pairs of shoes got kicked into a pile by the gate, and everyone turned into tired, sweaty messes.

To keep morale up, you had insisted on everyone bringing a favorite tape that alternated in the shop radio and you had stocked up at Bradley's with an assortment of sugary snacks and drinks for the break room. Thankfully, the treats had prevented anyone from bursting into tears or threatening to quit, as you had witnessed countless times during your time working in retail.

You really channeled Eddie's sweet tooth when making your choices and it had paid off.

But after 12 hours of unpacking, stacking, dusting, shifting, and sliding, you were all ready to go home.

You ushered everyone out of the store and locked the gate behind you, and as the group walked toward the employee exit, excitement had returned. Pride for a seemingly-impossible task completed.

"The store looks so good! Mindy is gonna shit herself when she comes in to open."

"Oh my god, do you think we're gonna have a store visit? Can you let me know what they think of the hair wall?"

"We're gonna make so many sales! Who can say no to that unicorn backpack?"

You entertained their conversation but when you set foot outside and saw a familiar van parked next to your car, you lost all ability to speak.

He had said he was gonna surprise you with breakfast...but you told him not to. Of course he didn't listen; it had you rolling your eyes in annoyed amusement.

God you knew everyone was a gossip, this was gonna get to Mindy and then she was gonna give you an earful. She already let you have it when she heard about your invitation to dinner.

You quickly thanked your team and ushered them to their cars before you meandered towards yours. You ignored the questioning looks that they shot you as you hesitated to get into your car but you waved goodbye as they drove away.

When the last car left the lot, you immediately stormed over to the passenger's side door of the van and threw it open to find a McDonald's bag on the seat, two coffees in the cupholders, and a tired-eyed Eddie in the driver's seat. His fingers tapped on the steering wheel in time with Kiss's Beth.

"I'm always somewhere else," he turned his upper body towards you dramatically and began serenading you. "And you're always there alone."

"Unbelievable," you scoffed at him.

"Just a few more hours and I'll be right home to you. I think I hear them calling. Oh Beth what can I do?" He slapped his hands against the steering wheel dramatically. "Beth what can I do?"

You climbed into the passengers seat, closed the door behind you, and opened the McDonalds bag to the delightful smell of hot, fresh, crispy hash browns and egg McMuffins.

"If it's not obvious," Eddie announced as he reached across the van to shove his hand into the bag for a hash brown of his own. "I'm Beth in this scenario because you left me alone for hours and hours and hours last night."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah I got into all sorts of trouble."

“I told you not to bring breakfast.”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

"You didn't need to come if you were tired."

"I wanted to and I pretty much do whatever I want anyways," he insisted, and then thankfully focused on his food as you felt your face heat up.

"Well, if you'd like to know, me and the boys were not actually playing all night," you remarked and dug the sandwiches out of the brown bag. You handed one to Eddie, whose mouth was already full of salty, potatoey goodness after he'd shoved the hash brown in one piece. His cheeks were all round and full like a chipmunks and you held back a giggle.

God he was too cute. And he brought you breakfast after a long overnight shift. And he had called you his girl and told you you were special. How were you supposed to stop yourself from having a crush on him if this was...just how he was?

The two of you got to talking about your night, about his Sunday shift, about what you did before work, about what he did after it. And it was nice.

And as you sat there watching him slurp the hot coffee and watch the sparse traffic around the mall dive, you finally found the right words and the strength not to make an absolute fool of yourself.

"This was really nice of you, Eddie. You're wonderful."

He put his hand on his chest and looked a little sheepish.

"I'm wonderful?"

"You're wonderful to me."

---

Next Part: Corrective Action

The tag list is currently suspended.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #store manager verse #stranger things fic #Eddie munson fic #stranger things Eddie munson

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sencubussubs · 3 months

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My University Success Story

Hi lovelies,

Here is my university success story which isn’t just “i manifested it and i got in” (which is still super great btw but i think this success story is a good reminder of how irrelevant the 3D and logic is). I initially got rejected!

Well my university system is different so i didn’t get rejected but rather i performed so badly that i got an extremely high ranking number (700+ high). (lowest ranking numbers get in)

At the time my manifestation journey was um.. not great. I was especially dealing with an sp manifestation that i kept spiraling over and over and i basically was losing all hope in my manifestations in general. (i kept successfully manifesting contact and then driving myself crazy) I was SO absorbed in the 3D and let it control everything. i treated the 3d as my only validation, i wavered constantly, i went in and out of believing despite the fact that i had consciously manifested SO MANY THINGS, i am talking an ipad pro 4th gen and apple pen, my iphone 13 green (the one from my ‘don’t settle’ post.) Like i was making everything SO difficult for myself.

When i got rejected from this university, i was honestly a little gobsmacked and just done with everything. I was preparing my stuff for my back up uni that i was dreading to go to, i was doing room viewings & everything. I was so done with it i just decided i was going to get into my uni because i internally REFUSED to go to my back up uni or not go to uni at all. At the time i didn’t know manifestation was as could be as easy as deciding. But by deciding and refusing to budge internally, as well as having one of the uni’s lecture hall (that i actually have every single one of my lectures in now!) pictured on my vision board, the 3D moved for me what it had to move to reflect my internal shift. And two weeks later, about a month after rejecting me, they accepted me.

Everyone was surprised because with my ranking there was absolutely 0 reason for me to be accepted, even if other students dropped out for their other options. The course is too small and selective for my ranking number to ever come close to letting me fill a spot. I performed badly on my mocks and even worse on my final exams - the predicted grades they had rejected me with were significantly higher. I have no connections to the university, nothing. Despite every logical reason for me not to get into my course - including literally being rejected - here i am. I am currently at the start of my second semester at the uni :)

With this success story i wish to remind you how logic and the 3D/ circumstances have no part in manifestation. I internally refused to accept the outcome the 3D was showing me and stayed faithful to my outcome - i didn’t even know this was manifesting at the time, i was just being stubborn - and as a result it manifested.

My 3D kept showing me a different outcome, every weekend i was visiting rooms on the other side of the country for my back up uni choice, my mom was constantly talking to me about the back up university, other people were constantly bringing it up - and still here i am.

You don’t need to know why and how it is going to work out, just stay faithful to your outcome. In some cases it’ll come naturally, some manifestations just come out of thin air like this one.

I believe in you, now choose to believe in yourself too.

Choose to remain disciplined and faithful to yourself.

Love,

Saph

#law of assumption #loass #loassblog #loassumption #manifestation #manifesting #sencubus #loa #conscious manifesting #manifestation success story #success story #loass success story #law of assumption success story

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onceuponaoneshotfanfic · 8 months

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Back to School Night

Roy Kent x Teacher!Reader

Warnings: Language, gross dads hitting on their kid's teacher

1.2k words

Teach Me Tonight Masterlist

You survived two more weeks of corralling twenty-four eight-year-olds, standing outside for drop-off and pick-up duty, and accepting smiles from Roy Kent. It was a good first few weeks of school, full of getting to know a pretty great group of students and avoiding making a fool of yourself in front of the football coach who insisted on saying hello to you whenever your paths crossed.

Now you returned to your classroom at just after four, refreshed in a nicer dress than usual and a little pair of heels, makeup retouched and hair down. Back to school night- the most dreaded and exciting night of the year. In about an hour, parents would be wandering into your classroom, inspecting every inch of your classroom and asking questions that should really be addressed in a proper sit-down meeting. Some of the dads would give you the onceover, which would have some of the mums giving you icy stares. At the end of the night, you’d be desperate to take these shoes off and get a glass of wine in your hands.

At least this year you’d be seeing Roy Kent.

You flittered around the room, straightening things up and keeping an eye on that clock that was moving much faster than usual. As you pushed in the couple of chairs that the kids had forgotten to get, Leanne poked her head in.

“Ready?” Her voice had that teasing lilt she’d adopted ever since that first happy hour of the year, when she chuckled watching you sip the drink Roy Kent had sent over.

“Ready as I can be,” you huffed, blowing some hair out of your face. “You?”

She shrugged, stepping into your classroom. “Same.” Her eyes scanned the self-portraits you had hanging on one wall. “Those are great.” She pointed to one. “Nice to see Miss Phoebe’s moved on from drawing the female form.” She smirked. “Wait’ll her mum sees this.”

“God, I hope she comes.” You folded your arms across your chest. “Three weeks and I haven’t met her yet. She’s the only parent I haven’t seen.”

Leanne tilted her head at you. “What d’you mean? You haven’t seen her when she drops off Phoebe or picks her up?”

You shook your head. “It’s always Coach Kent, isn’t it? Dr. O’Sullivan must have shit hours, poor thing.”

“Interesting.” Leanne’s smile was mischievous. “I swore Phoebe’s mum dropped her off about half the time. What a coincidence that Uncle Roy has to handle things this year, when Phoebe’s got a very pretty teacher.”

“Oh stop,” you begged, rolling your eyes. “He’s probably just enjoying the way I get all flustered when he’s around. Little ego boost for him. Stupid Roy Kent and his stupid handsomeness.”

Leanne’s smile widened as she glanced at the clock, which showed almost five. “Well, better get ready to see that stupid man.”

“No, I am not married,” you repeated for the third time, your cheeks hurting from the fake smile you wore as another dad stood far too close. “Anyways, Lily sits right over there, feel free to take a look at the letter she wrote for you and her mum.”

Relieved to have distracted the dad whose wandering eyes made you feel like you needed a shower, you let out the quietest sigh you could manage. Other than a handful of forward fathers, the evening seemed to be going well. Most parents seemed pleased with the classroom and assured you that their children enjoyed having you as their teacher. You weren’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed that you had yet to see-

“Hi.”

That gruff voice had you actually gulping.

Fuck, fuck.

Plastering on that teacher smile for the millionth time in the last half hour, you turned around to find Roy, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. Beside him was a woman in scrubs and a ponytail, eyeing you with curiosity and a coolly raised eyebrow.

“You must be Phoebe’s mum,” you gushed far too cheerfully, offering her your hand. “So nice to finally meet you.”

She smiled, her eyes shifting to Roy for a flash of a moment before shaking your hand. “Yes, sorry we haven’t met yet.”

You shook your head. “No, I understand. I’m glad you could make it tonight.” You nodded towards Phoebe’s table. “Pheebs’s desk is right over there. She wrote you a letter.” Knowing you were failing at suppressing a grin, you glanced at Roy. “She wrote one for you, too, Coach.”

His smile could probably bring about world peace, you thought. It was just that damn wonderful. “Little idiot really made more work for herself, writing two letters,” he hummed, earning a glare from his sister. He offered you that little salute, the one he gave you most mornings and afternoons, and turned to follow his sister to Phoebe’s desk.

Your entire body grew warm when you heard Dr. O’Sullivan playfully hiss, “So that’s why you insist on dropping my kid off every day.”

When Roy glanced over his shoulder to look at you, you pretended to be busy looking at a child’s work. “Shut up,” he mumbled, unable to hide the red tips of his ears and his embarrassed grin. “Maybe I just like my niece, ever think of that?”

Dr. O’Sullivan’s laugh rang in your ears. “Then why are you blushing so hard, Roy-o?”

You had to turn your entire body away before either of them noticed your own blush. With your back to them, you allowed yourself a smile, vibrating with giddiness at the idea that Roy Kent came to school to see you. That you made Roy Kent blush. Even with the way you tried to suppress your little crush, it was thrilling to think that he might genuinely have one too. After all, it was one thing for nosy coworkers to tease you; it was another for Roy Kent’s sister to tease him.

Remembering where you were, you busied yourself with other parents, chatting about what a pleasure it was to teach their children and how excited you were for the new year. After avoiding the touch of a particularly well-known father, you found yourself face-to-face with Roy. He quirked an eyebrow as he watched the man scamper away.

“They really have no shame, do they?” He wrinkled his nose. “You should keep a flask in your desk. Every time a dad hits on you, you take a swig.”

You rolled your eyes. “Poor kids wouldn’t learn a thing. Their teacher’d be sloshed all the time.”

His small laugh had you blushing. “Maybe not the best idea, then.” He gazed at you for a moment, as if he was thinking. You raised your eyebrows, waiting for him to say something, anything. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Finally, he stuck his hand out. “Well, have a good night.”

Praying he didn’t feel you trembling, you shook his hand. His sister’s teasing had you feeling bold enough to give a small squeeze before letting go. “Good night, Coach.”

Roy paused again, still thoughtful. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he finally murmured. “At drop-off.”

Absolutely failing to hide your silly grin, you nodded. “See you tomorrow.” You quickly said goodbye to Dr. O’Sullivan, who’d wandered over while you drooled over her famous brother. Her smile was far too amused and had you blushing even harder than you already were.

On their way out the door, Roy couldn’t help but look back and offer one last little wave, that stupidly perfect smile playing on his lips.

Taglist: @infinetlyforgotten @gothicwidowsworld @taytaylala12 @amieinghigh @klaine-92 @misshall14 @rosesheerio @goose-101 @gee72sstuff @alainabooks143 @lwritesstuff @hayden-maximoff @optimisticsandwichgladiator @veryprairieberry @scott-mccall-could-lift-mjolnir

#roy kent teach me tonight #roy kent x teacher!reader #he's here he's there he's every fucking where #roy kent x reader #roy kent fanfic #roy kent fic #roy kent #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent fluff #ted lasso fanfiction #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fic

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imagine-knowing-a-name · 1 month

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2 am, who do you love?

Summary: You feel guilty for pushing Wanda away and want to apologise, but when Vision is always there, will you be able to? And what even is their relationship?

Word Count: 2218 Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader Warnings: Vision Part 5 of 'Half of My Hometown' series masterlist <- previous part | next part ->

»»————-　★　————-««

Your path is familiar, the setting is familiar, the time is familiar…but when you walk your route the next night, everything feels inexplicably different. Nothing has changed outwardly, but the air feels more stagnant, the building feels quieter, and your heart pounds faster in your chest.

You consider that there might be an intruder you have yet to spot, but quickly shake that thought away. You know the real reason:

Wanda.

Of course.

The uncertainty of where you stand with her messes with you more than you care to admit; you know you shouldn’t be this affected when it’s still been less than a week since you reunited. If she hates you now and never wants to meet you again, then it’s just a return to your normal shifts anyway, right?

Your stomach turns at the thought.

You don’t want to go back to the silence; in just two days, the nightly meetings had become something for you to look forward to – a beacon pulling you through your shift – but now you’re left to wonder if last night was the last.

The hurt that flashed across Wanda’s face has been haunting your every waking moment since you pushed her away – and that isn’t even fully accurate because it implies that the thoughts stop in your sleep. They don’t. You tossed and turned all night because of it.

It replays once again: her furrowed eyebrows, the wide eyes… then she’d wiped the expression away within a millisecond as if to hide her true feelings from you. That’s what causes you the most guilt – that’s not how things are supposed to work between friends, you’re supposed to be the one she shares her emotions with, not the one causing her to bottle them up. Even a day later, every new thought still leads you down the same path: no matter what you think of or which approach you take, it always returns to her, and whether you’ll see her again. You’ve planned a hundred apologies in your head, but you don’t even know that there’ll be anyone there to apologise to.

As the clock ticks once again towards 2am, dread bubbles up in your chest.

You round the corner that has become oh so important in recent days. This is the moment of truth.

She's there.

But he is too.

Wanda’s eyes lock onto yours immediately, as if she’d been waiting for you to round the corner, before she breaks into a smile and calls you over with a wave. It’s too late to turn around, so you head over to the pair of Avengers, trying to think of what to say: Wanda doesn’t seem angry, but you know very well that it may be a facade hiding her hurt, just like her smile the previous night. Then the man at her side is putting on no facade at all; he stands blank-faced without a word of greeting – somewhat unnerving when you know what the synthetic Avenger is capable of.

“Hi Wanda,” is what you come up with, smiling softly at her. “Vision.”

He only nods, then the three of you linger awkwardly, nobody knowing quite what to say until Wanda finally braves a conversation.

“So, I, uh, we didn't get to talk much last night.”

You head ducks quickly, expecting a beratement. You want to apologise, to say how much you would have preferred her company to the silent walks and how much you look forward to seeing her every day. But you can’t. Not in front of Vision.

“I was the one who said I’d see you tomorrow and then,” she continues, and her eyes flick quickly to Vision, “...did something else.” Vision smiles, which causes you to look again between the two of them – are they dating?

With the way Wanda smiles back at him, her wording suddenly starts to sound like an inside joke between the two of them – a code which they know you won’t understand. You hide the grimace that threatens to reveal your thoughts. After what feels like minutes of watching them, but was more likely only a second, Wanda turns back to you and you force your attention back to her, pushing thoughts of her and Vision to the back of your mind. Why is it upsetting you so much?

“So, I just wanted to say I'm sorry for that-”

Wait, why was she apologising? Didn't you come here to apologise? There are more questions than you can keep up with, flooding your head and delaying your responses. An apology from you to Wanda would solve a lot of them, but one look towards Vision and you know you can’t do it in the way that you’d like to. His unwavering straight line of a mouth silently reminds you of your responsibility, and Wanda’s too. Her place is with Vision now – with the Avengers – and he doesn’t seem keen to let you distract her from that. Even suggesting that she might want to come with you in your apology, had you not pushed her to go to the gym, could cause problems not only for you and your career, but more importantly, Wanda and hers. You can’t risk instilling the notion that she might not prioritise her training every night.

What you can do though, is stop Wanda apologising, and that’s exactly what you do, with a string of “no, no, no, it’s okay.”

“You’ve got to train, and I'm sure I should be focused on work anyway. I don't mean to disturb you two by always being here when you come to use the gym.”

“Speaking of which…” Vision finally says, cutting off whatever Wanda had opened her mouth to reply with.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” you say, taking the hint, “you guys can get back to it. I'll… I'm…” You point over your shoulder, to the corridor you're supposed to keep walking down. Vision takes that as his sign to turn and open the gym door, but he’s forced to wait because Wanda hasn’t moved; she’s still lingering in place, looking at you.

“Um… hope the rest of your shift goes okay.” She speaks softly and – mixed with how she avoids eye contact – you’re reminded of the child who used to make you or Pietro speak on her behalf. “I'll go in with Vision now, but maybe another night, we could…”

She hesitates when she glances up and meets your eye, so you smile as encouragingly as you can, hoping she’ll say what you’ve been too afraid to.

“We could just talk again, like the other night. I enjoyed that.”

“I did too,” you answer honestly, “I'd like that.”

“See you around then,”

“See you around, Wanda.”

With a brief smile over her shoulder, she hurries back to Vision’s side, allowing them to walk together into the gym. You watch her go, seeing how she plays with the ring you gave her while looking up at Vision – you can’t help but wonder if she remembers how it used to be yours. Maybe Vision will give her a ring one day – a perfect new one, fitted for her, rather than a young child’s second-hand find – and you’ll watch silently as she chooses that one instead.

You have to physically shake your head in an attempt to clear those thoughts; where were they coming from? What caused this sudden disdain of Vision for keeping her from you? Wanda is her own person, a person you had once been close to, sure, but also a person you’ve hardly seen in 13 years; of course she’ll have other friends, a boyfriend, a life beyond childhood memories. And besides, you and her are friends, nothing else, having a boyfriend doesn’t replace that, so why do you feel this way towards Vision? You should be happy for her. You want to be happy for her. But instead you trudge slowly away from the gym, simmering in your own thoughts.

»»————-　★　————-««

And so it went, night after night, meeting after meeting. Wanda is always there to greet you and Vision is always by her side. You'll talk for a couple of minutes about nothing much, then break apart when you have to go back to your route and Wanda to her gym training.

Each and every night though, you and Wanda pull away slowly, like magnets resisting their attraction, lingering with words unspoken, and words which would remain unspoken so long as Vision is nearby. As much as you wish that you could ask her to accompany you instead of Vision, and spend the days pondering if this will be the night you finally gather the courage to do so, when the time comes, you always hesitate. It never happens.

After so many instances of this, Vision’s now familiar voice reaches your ears once again, causing you to frown. Your expression isn't solely from hearing the obstacle to yours and Wanda's conversations, but also due to the time and location of hearing him. This isn't where you usually meet him and nor is it 2am; it's early in your shift.

In the first few hours that you work, the Compound is yet to be completely vacant, so voices aren't unusual, but it is rare to see anyone other than the handful of agents finishing up their own shifts. Now there's an Avenger present and, if your hearing is to be believed, he's talking to another Avenger: your employer, world-saver, and leading star of your childhood nightmares… Tony Stark.

Now, eavesdropping isn't your original goal, but you're curious! Aside from the gym, there's very little reason for the two Avengers to be in this area of the Compound, so of course you're inclined to investigate what they're up to. You sneak closer and closer until the muffled voices turn into coherent speech, then pause when you work out the topic of conversation. They're talking about Wanda.

At this point, you accept that you'll be standing there for as long as you can without getting caught. You sink closer and fiddle loosely with the pockets of your belt, giving yourself an excuse for loitering if anyone were to walk past.

“-I always accompany her to ensure she is not alone, and I have seen her make good progress in our nightly sessions.”

“Why is it that you always go in the middle of the night? Are the two of you engaged in some other late night activities I need to know about?” Tony asks teasingly. You try to ignore the insinuation.

Vision seems to do the same. “Miss Maximoff prefers the gym to be quiet. However, I find her waiting outside for me every night, so I do believe she enjoys the company. Training with the whole team may simply be overwhelming for her still, but I am happy to work with her until she is ready for that stage.

“‘Atta boy! At least someone here is doing what I asked. Having something to look out for her will be good for her, ya know? I mentioned it to Nat too, but you and Wanda already seem… close.”

All of Tony's words seem to confirm the notion you've been avoiding and your stomach twists at the knowledge that you haven't been imagining things. When it’s just you, it's easy to kid yourself into writing your intuition off as just late-night delusions, but if Tony also sees that Wanda and Vision may be something other than just friends, then, well…it's suddenly a bit harder to deny.

“We have gotten close,” Vision replies. With him, it's near impossible to tell whether he means that as confirmation of their relationship or if he's simply not picked up on the billionaire's insinuation.

“Yeah, you could say that. Can you even blush Vision? or does that ‘permanent sunburn’ shade hide it? Either way, I don't need to see you blushing to know when you've got a crush-

Tony doesn't even see them at night like you do, which means they act the same during the day too – together at almost all hours of the day. Do they make more of a show of it in the daytime, you wonder? Tony seems so confident in their relationship, so there must be more than you see in your 5 minutes together at 2am. You try to clear the thoughts from your mind – not that it works – before you quickly walk away, unable to bear the conversation any longer.

Why does it bother you so much? That's the question you keep coming back to. Why should you care if Wanda is in a relationship? A relationship with Vision? He seems like a decent person, and you're sure Wanda knows him better than your brief perception anyway. They should enjoy their relationship, and maybe you're just upset at being the third wheel is all, that's a reason for feeling disappointment like this, right?

You don't want to dwell on it further, knowing your current mind is a tangle of questions ready to trap you if you dare pull on a single thread. But you've already pulled. As much as you try to focus on the rest of your shift, all you can think about is that you'll have to greet Wanda and Vision again later in the night.

And you'll have to pretend it's not killing you to see.

»»————-　★　————-««

General Taglist: @canvascoloredin @fxckmiup @wizardofstories

Series Taglist: @holiday-house-of-m @emiliaisdead @wonderingnerd @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @chasethemoon @alexawynters

A/N: I'm not really a fan of the banner either lol, but it's easier than finding gifs. Sorry for the delay again, the past week has just been insanely busy for reasons I don't even know, but I hope you enjoy! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated as usual if you do :)

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff imagine #marvel #mcu #ikan writes #ikan homh

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scarletttries · 1 year

Text

Two Weeks Notice (Kendall Roy Request)

Pairing: Kendall Roy (Succession) x F! Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.7k

Author's Note: I'm so excited that we'll have new Kendall Succession content soon! Thank you so much for this request, I think being Kendall's trophy wife would be a whole ass job but so worth it 😅 Also writing about leaving a shitty job felt very cathartic as I am going through something similar at the moment, so I am very grateful for this request, obsessed with your description of throwing your feminist card away for this, and apologies for all the projecting!💓

Two Weeks Notice (Kendall Roy Smut)

You were good at your job. Great in fact. No matter what your 1,000-year old boss said when he forgot his password and blamed it on you. No matter how many times you were ahead of schedule on a project and then the deadline got moved. No matter how many times you had to lock yourself in a bathroom stall just to take a few deep breaths alone so you weren't crying at your desk. You were good at your job. But was it worth it?

You'd worked hard to rise through your industry until you started to really see the benefits of being close to the top, but the heavy responsibilities and long nights and constant demands had started taking a toll right around the time you met Kendall. Kendall whose job was somehow even more demanding than yours, and who needed all the support you could offer him every waking moment, clinging to your kindness like it was the first he was ever shown. It was easy to see Kendall was smitten from the first day, never hiding his efforts to spend time with you, showering you with gifts and invitations to be on his arm at what seemed like every major event in the world. It was exhausting balancing late night galas with your job, and trying to be there for Kendall when his family got too much and he needed to retreat to the safe harbour of your arms. You could feel yourself getting more and more worn out as your relationship developed, with Kendall always offering to sit out events for a quiet night in, despite how much you both loved the excuse to don a designer dress and spend the night laughing together, hand locked in his no matter what.

You didn't wake up until a least your third alarm that Monday, the bright light trickling through a gap in the long velvet curtains making you wish you could hide under the duvet forever.

"Is that your alarm babe? You can't seriously have to be up for work already?" Groaned Kendall beside you, reaching out to wrap his arm over your stomach, covered only by a t-shirt he'd loaned you on your first sleepover and never got back, as he silenced the beeping beside you.

"I can lie here for five more minutes and then I've got to get ready." You sighed wearily, setting the deadline for yourself, ignoring the cloud of dread hanging over you at the thought of another day in that awful office.

"Just don't go, you hate it there, and you always come home bummed out afterwards. Just stay in bed with me forever." Kendall argued, rising up on his elbows and shifting until his face hovered an inch from yours, soft smile breaking down your defenses with lightning speed.

"I can't just not go Kendall, it's my job." You sighed, gracing him with a soft kiss before gathering all your strength to drag yourself out from under his slim build.

"You don't need a job gorgeous, especially not a job you don't like. You should quit and then we'd get to spend more time together." You couldn't help but laugh at his suggestion, until you focused on his face again, completely serious about his proposal.

"Kendall I can't just quit and hang out with you all day." You could feel your heart sink at your own words, the option presented to you so much more enticing than the day you had ahead of you. As you moved to sit up Kendall let his weight keep you in place, shaking his head at your attempted escape.

"Hey I still have four minutes left to make my case!" His voice was hoarse first thing in the morning and as his lips fell to yours again you could feel your resolve softening,

"Okay, you can try and convince me." You let your head fall back against the pillow as Kendall shifted his body completely over yours, lips gently marking a journey over your throat as he spoke,

"First, most people have a job to make money, and you don't ever need to worry about money again because we have more than enough together." His kisses trailed down towards your shoulder, feeling the subtle shift of your hips under him as your eyes fluttered shut at the sensation. "Also, I miss you when you're at work, and that's no fun for me." You missed the playful glint in his eye as he spoke, softly landing one hand on your thigh and rubbing small circles across the sensitive skin with his fingertips as they climbed.

"Kendall, I - " You thought about protesting, but his lips cut you off as you spoke, continuing his thoughtful plea,

"Number three, the idiots you work with don't respect you. But I respect every part of you, and every one of your needs." His warm palm pressed into your thigh, shifting your legs apart slightly, smiling with devilish glee as you let him do it. "Working there makes you unhappy, and you should never have to do anything that makes you feel bad. I only ever want you to feel good." You could feel your excitement building with anticipation as his hand slowly climbed towards your centre, body twitching against his as his fingers brushed over the soft fabric of your underwear. Dipping his head to your stomach, his hands tugged at the worn shirt until it was bunched up at your shoulders, your chest exposed for his trailing lips to explore as he spoke,

"We have a lot more fun here than you do at work right?" He asked teasingly as his fingers toyed with the hem of your panties, drinking in your breathy sigh as you nodded and hummed in agreement, lifting your hips to help him remove the barrier stopping him from accessing all of you.

"Good girl," he cooed as his fingers traced over your slit, moving teasingly slowly as his lips peppered your chest with kisses, tongue darting over your nipples until they hardened at his touch.

"You're also way too sexy to have an office job, you should let someone who couldn't just lie in bed naked all day have your job, as like, a public service." You could feel him grin against your skin as he spoke, easing his fingers between your folds and feeling your warm slick welcome him.

"Mmm, see, it's not fair for you to ever leave me here alone when you're clearly made for me to touch." You watched through hooded eyes as he withdrew his fingers slowly and brought them to his lips, "and taste," he added before dropping his hand back to your entrance, pumping his hand between your thighs and feeling your chest rise and fall against his hungry lips.

"Kendall, please." You sighed out at his gentle touch, needing more as frustration began to build in your aching core.

"Final reason, number I lost fucking count because there are so many reasons - I need you too much. I need you every morning, and every night, and every bullshit event, and every good day and every bad day okay? I need you all the time." The burning intensity in his gaze as he spoke had you squirming at his touch, the pounding of your heart echoing in your swimming head as he kissed a path down over your stomach, face hovering just above where you craved him most. His hand stilled against your dripping slit, breath teasingly close to your tingling clit. "So should I stop and let you go to work? Or do you want to stay here with me?" A smug smile spread across his face as you replied, almost begging,

"I'll stay Kendall, please!" Satisfied with your answer his fingers dipped inside you again, faster this time, brushing against your walls as his tongue lapped at your neglected clit, quickly building the pressure inside again.

"You're going to quit your job?" He almost commanded the question, rewarding each nod of your head with a wet kiss on your sensitive bud.

"You're going to let me take care of you?" You could feel the brush of his cheek on your inner thigh as he smiled at the question, your 'yes' coming out as a moan as you felt yourself grow closer and closer to release, the excitement in your core bubbling up to its boiling point.

"You're going to be my gorgeous, loving, trophy wife?" His eyes seemed to sparkle at the word wife, full of warmth and hope with the thought of having you by his side for the rest of his life.

"Yes Kendall!" Your voice caught on his name as your thighs began to shake, his tongue frantically lapping at your clit at the pressure inside you finally snapped, clenching down on his fingers and trembling under him.

"Good girl." He purred as he coaxed every drop of pleasure out of you, fingers working until your soft form finally stilled, hands finding his face and pulling him into a hungry kiss. Wrapping your arms over his neck you pulled him tight against your lips, letting your tongue drink in your own taste, body on fire with sensitivity after your start to the day. Finally you let your brain catch up with the agreement you'd made in exchange for pleasure, interrupting Kendall's eager kisses with a reminder of reality,

"I still have to give two weeks notice." You sighed, laughing as Kendall shook his head vigorously at the suggestion,

"No way, I'll just hire a model to pretend to be you at the office for the next two weeks. Done, problem solved," looking very proud of himself at the suggestion.

"Why a model?" You laughed, realising you weren't getting out of this bed for any reason today if Kendall was getting his way.

"Fuck off, have you seen you?!" He grinned at your flattered smile as you pulled his lips back against yours, only to feel his hands start wandering again, "Actually, I could do with seeing even more of you."

It's safe to say anytime you thought about getting a job outside of supportingt Kendall, he would remind you exactly why you agreed to be his, full-time.

#fanfiction #writing #one shot #requests #kendall succession #kendall roy headcanon #kendall roy smut #kendall roy x reader #kendall roy #succession imagine #succession hbo #succession

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ventique18 · 1 year

Text

Dreamlike

Malleus x Yuu♀️ (nameless) short one shot.

⚠️ Suggestive warning!

It's a hot summer. For Lilia, summer always makes him think of very specific things: beaches, watermelons, swimsuits. It's the perfect time to enjoy one's youth. Now, he's not actually young anymore to be bothered by such frivolities, but he is bothered anyway. It's because his young master, who is quite literally young and should, indeed, enjoy his youth, is instead spending time cooped up in his musty old library and eating nuts instead of watermelons or mangoes or coconuts.

That simply won't do. So, with the power vested in him as the boy's guardian, he manages to forc--convince him to join a youth summer camp.

Malleus Draconia isn't particularly pleased. But since he's getting bored of the same tomes and scriptures anyway (the scheduled procurement of new books isn't until a few months more), he accepts and uses it as an excuse to loiter around the mountains by his lonesome.

Until one night he isn't quite alone. He isn't sure if it's good or bad fortune, but for the first time in his traditionalist life, he experiences something truly shocking.

He walks in on a woman bathing. In a river, by the forest. Completely, utterly, naked. He watches her a second too long, he's ashamed to confess.

"Like what you're seeing?"

That snaps him back to reality. Flustered, he blinks and his mouth babbles and his hands shift in many different combinations of poses that he dreads the woman might think he's performing an odd sort of avian mating dance.

"No," He speaks quickly, "What I mean is, please do not misunderstand and think that I find you foul or, unattractive. I don't. I do think you're rather fascinating. But it's not that I'm watching you deliberately, goodness no. Please do not be afraid as I do not plan on doing anything more than look. I mean,"

He sucks in a sharp breath. He's not making any rational sense, and he's sounding like a creep, "I am merely curious."

For all his attempts at sincerity, he's failing horribly as he just cannot take his eyes off her.

But she laughs, and with a shake of her head, asks him playfully, "Alright stranger, can you hand me my towel?"

He does, and he almost stumbles from how shaken he is from this whole ordeal.

Much to his surprise, the woman does not think badly of him at all. She, in fact, asks him to come back tomorrow night. Same place, same time. Now, he's no fool and knows better than to fall for such suspicious traps, so he ignores her request and walks through a different trail the following night.

... Until he circles back and finds his feet perching on a familiar stony path; soles drenched and socks dampened by the moonlit water.

There she is, swaying languidly in the clear river. He can fully see every inch and curve of her alluring body, yet she does not bother to hide herself nor reprimand him for his obviously captivated gaze. And whether by pure curiosity or something else entirely, he finds himself wading through the waters and towards her, when she smiles and gestures for him to come a bit closer.

Nothing much happens that night, except for her asking what kind of flower he likes. He answers and asks her in turn if she likes berries, and if she prefers strawberries or blueberries or any other berry. What's your favorite color? Do you take care of any pet? As odd as the situation is, he catches himself looking less and less at the soft slopes of her womanly body and more on the tugs of emotions at the corners of her mouth.

He finds himself visiting her again the following nights. They talk about anything and everything, and very soon he thinks she knows more about him than anyone else he's ever met in his life. He finds comfort in her, and he wonders if she feels the same. He becomes a bit confident that she does, when she asks to touch him a week later.

For the first time in his life, he undresses in front of another not to dress up, but to... simply undress. He cannot fathom what comes over him. But he lets her roam his body, from the tips of his fingers to the ridges of his peculiar horns. From the slope of his nose to the dip of his hip. She stops before she can cross the boundary of appropriate and inappropriate (though one can argue their circumstance is not a very usual one), but rather than taking a step back, she moves forward and asks him,

"Would you like to touch me too?"

He does not reply. He cannot think. And when the head refuses to function any more, it's the heart that takes over the body. He cannot hear anything but the loud thumping of his chest, but he nervously perseveres and places a palm upon her left breast.

Thump, thump, thump.

Is that the blood that runs through his veins, or is that her heart resonating with his, through the red that dusts her cheeks and the fingers that shakily reaches for his own?

Thump, thump, thump.

He doesn't know. He cannot think. Not when her smaller hands intertwine against his much larger ones. Not when her legs coil around his waist, arms wrapping tightly around his back and nails sinking deep across the skin above his spine. Not when his mind is occupied with the soft enamor of her thighs, his fingers squeezing her tightly as he pushes and pulls her against himself; sinful sweat washed away by the unsullied waters.

What a terrifying feeling. He's never felt so out of control. He knows not what he's doing, he has nothing planned out in his head. All he has is this strange electricity coursing through him-- a magnet that draws him to her. He doesn't want to let go. He cannot let go. Not even when a wave of ecstasy crashes through his entire body and threatens to knock him out cold. Not even when they settle on his lodgings and bury themselves in the warmth of sheets and blankets.

Even then, he buries himself in her warmth.

So when he wakes up to find her nowhere to be seen-- not in bed, not in his immediate surroundings-- he no longer feels out of control. He is not in control. The trip has come to an end, and so did his dreamlike encounter.

Only the wanton marks left on his skin are proof that it was, in fact, not a dream.

---

"Malleus, cheer up a bit, why don't you? You wouldn't want to scare your... let me check my notes... Ah yes, your 57th potential wife away, no?"

"And it's the 50th time I am telling you this: no one would ever want to waste an hour with me. Much less a lifetime. You would think the first seven were proof enough."

"Don't you say that! You're a handsome young man, if you would just learn to smile--"

"Enough, Lilia. This is the last time. If this still doesn't work out, I would rather let my bloodline die with me than suffer through any more humiliation."

*click* *creak*

"Hi there, stranger."

"..."

"Like what you're seeing?"

"... You have a lot of nerve, standing me up like that. And suddenly you show up-- out of nowhere-- with a cheeky little smile? This audacity calls for a fitting punishment, don't you think?"

"Ohh, scary. I like it. Lay it on me. Or would you prefer it in me?"

"Witch. You deserve a life sentence. Lilia, take out the marriage papers."

💖💖💖💖

Notes: THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ONE PARAGRAPH LMAOOO! I just wanted to share that I like cheesy cliche stories with a bit of sensual flavor and was just gonna share a rough plot. Somehow it turned into a short fanfic HAHAHA

I really really like the thought of Malleus catching Yuu bathing and doesn't really do anything to hide his interest. He's an honest man. It's a staple in any of the MalleYuu AUs in my brain.

#twisted wonderland #malleus draconia #malleus x reader #twst fanfic

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devoted-rotting · 3 months

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A Meeting that Could Have Been an Email

“Lucifer, a word, if you will?”

The crackle of interference veiled over the sound of Alastor’s voice. Lucifer shook himself out of his daze before settling on the demon with a scowl.

“Whatever for, uh…” he paused, a smile creeping up his face. “What was it, facility manager?”

Alastor sneered, a forced laugh distorted by interference emitting from his cane.

“Ha ha. I would like to have a private word, about Charlie.”

Just as his focus began to shift, it once again sharpened.

“What the fuck do you want to—“ A shadows suddenly enveloped him, swallowing Lucifer whole in seconds before suddenly reappearing in a small meeting room. At the head of each side of a long table sat two chairs—one slightly taller, and one with his name on it.

“Please, I implore you to sit.” The lights flickered above him as Lucifer sat down, setting his cane in a mounted cane holder on the table.

“Now, I had but a simple—“

“Where in Hell do you get off trying to take my daughter from me?” Lucifer interrupted, digging his claws into the armrests. “She’s my. fucking. daughter. And you’re what? Trying to get a deal out of her? Take her soul? Hm? Is that it?”

Alastor’s eyes narrowed, but his smile remained plastered on his face as Lucifer went on.

“I see right through that plastic little part you’re trying to play on her life, and I’m telling you not only is she smarter than to fall for that bullshit, but that her grace and kindness is the only reason you even have a SEAT at this table.”

“Why are you acting all high and mighty, Pride?” Lucifer’s grip tightened on the armrest, splintering the wood. “Are you trying to play your part? Because frankly, you’re doing an awful job, and making a mess of everything. Although, I imagine you’re used to that.”

The air escaped Lucifer’s lungs, nervousness creeping into his mind as his anger dissipated. His focus dulled.

“I came here to ask you, Lucifer, where in Hell you get off trying to waltz back into your daughters life like you didn’t make a mess of that, too.”

He began to fidget. His claw picked at the wood as he began to space out. His heartbeat thudded in his ears, adding to the cacophony of sensory as Alastor continued on.

“You, of all people, who Charlie has dreaded speaking to, much more asking for help on something she truly cares about, coming back pretending nothing was wrong, like you saw her last week. Like you hadn’t called her months ago. Like you remember every little detail, every effort. Like her friends, like me, who do all the heavy lifting for a child you created, and you royally messed up.”

His breath came quicker now. He tried to form a thought, scattered feelings and ideas just out of his reach. He tried to speak, to defend himself, something, but he only croaked.

“I-…“

Alastor was standing by this point, stiff as a board and scrutinizing as a Seraphim, bearing down upon him from across the table. He no longer was looking directly at Lucifer, more so down at the table, his claws splintering the table as he continued on.

“I am no father—no, no, absolutely not. At worst, however, I am better than you ever have been. You don’t just get to disappear as soon as it’s convenient. You don’t just get to leave. I don’t care how much you love her, when you leave, you forfeit all the love you could ever give or receive. When you leave, you don’t just get to come back. Hells bells it’s like neither of you actually give a shit!”

The lights sparked and blew out, leaving only a couple still glowing dimly. His eyes had become dials, glowing red and cranked high enough that his horns had sprouted into antlers. The room was filled with radio static and red emanated from his form, shadows dancing in his peripherals. Lucifer felt something hit his thigh, mindlessly going to wipe it away when he realized he had begun crying.

Alastor took a deep breath, forcing his composer while his eyes continued to glow and his gaze bore through him.

“If you value Charlie’s wellbeing—if you can get off your high horse and realize she is better off without you, then maybe she might end up alright.”

Alastor began walking towards the exit behind Lucifer, pausing at his side and leaning down to his ear.

“And that starts with a goodbye.”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin charlie #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel fandom #hazbin spoilers #lucifer #I hope this was as painful to read as it was to write #enjoy!

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cimerran-714 · 2 months

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Well, as many people love to claim that Ron's not at fault for abandoning the Trio in Deathly Hallows (some Ron stans instead prefer to shift the blame to Harry instead by reading things out of context), I thought I'd analyze the entire scene here.

So, to start with, I really like Ron. But I do not think that you have to excuse everything a character does in order to like him. Now, Ron fans would probably just claim that I am lying about liking Ron, but I don't care about that.

Let's get started, shall we?

“So, would he have hidden the sword well away from Hogsmeade then? What d’you reckon, Ron? Ron?” Harry looked around. For one bewildered moment he thought that Ron had left the tent, then realized that Ron was lying in the shadow of a lower bunk, looking stony. “Oh, remembered me, have you?” he said.

Okay, so it begins with Harry looking for Ron, and he notices him lying next to a bunk "looking stony". He makes a comment asking whether Harry's remembered him.

Now, how does Harry respond to that?

"What?” Ron snorted as he started up at the underside of the upper bunk. “You two carry on. Don’t let me spoil your fun.” Perplexed, Harry looked to Hermione for help, but she shook her head, apparently as nonplussed as he was. “What’s the problem?” asked Harry.

Harry's understandably confused. He says "What?" and then exchanges a look with Hermione, who's similarly perplexed. And then, Harry asks him again what the problem was. He just says "What's the problem?" and nothing else.

“Problem? There’s no problem,” said Ron, still refusing to look at Harry. “Not according to you, anyway.” There were several plunks on the canvas over their heads. It had started to rain. “Well, you’ve obviously got a problem,” said Harry. “Spit it out, will you?

Ron refuses to elaborate & just says that according to Harry, there's no problem. Harry replies by asking him to "spit out". Well, that maybe he considered rude, but how would you even respond to it? They were discussing Horcruxes & Ron's talking about how the others "remembered" him now, that Harry shouldn't let him "spoil their fun", and that Harry doesn't think there's a problem.

Considering the context, it's a valid thing to say.

Ron swung his long legs off the bed and sat up. He looked mean, unlike himself. “All right, I’ll spit it out. Don’t expect me to skip up and down the tent because there’s some other damn thing we’ve got to find. Just add it to the list of stuff you don’t know.” “I don’t know?” repeated Harry. “I don’t know?”

Ron looks unlike his usual self as he then implies that he doesn't care about what they had found out, and that it's Harry's fault. That's why Harry repeated the same thing. He was just surprised and shocked.

Plunk, plunk, plunk. The rain was falling harder and heavier; it pattered on the leaf-strewn bank all around them and into the river chattering through the dark. Dread doused Harry’s jubilation. Ron was saying exactly what he had suspected and feared him to be thinking. “It’s not like I’m not having the time of my life here,” said Ron, “you know, with my arm mangled and nothing to eat and freezing my backside off every night. I just hoped, you know, after we’d been running round a few weeks, we’d have achieved something.

Ron talks about how the Horcrux hunting wasn't similar to his expectations.

Again, Harry responded calmly:

"I thought you knew what you’d signed up for,” said Harry. “Yeah, I thought I did too.” “So what part of it isn’t living up to expectations?” asked Harry. Anger was coming to his defense now. “Did you think we’d be staying in five-star hotels? Finding a Horcrux every other day? Did you think you’d be back to Mummy by Christmas?"

For Harry using the phrase "back to Mummy", remember that Ron agreed to come to help even though Harry said that they shouldn't, and now he's upset that it's not working out & is sulking. Anyone would have gotten angry. Seriously, Ron just makes it sound as if Harry forced him to come along.

"We thought you knew what you were doing!” shouted Ron, standing up, and his words pierced Harry like scalding knives. “We thought Dumbledore had told you what to do, we thought you had a real plan!” “Ron!” said Hermione, this time clearly audible over the rain thundering on the tent roof, but again, he ignored her. “Well, sorry to let you down,” said Harry, his voice quite calm even though he felt hollow, inadequate. “I’ve been straight with you from the start, I told you everything Dumbledore told me. And in case you haven’t noticed, we’ve found on Horcrux—”

Ron's words are scathing, but remarkably, Harry is STILL calm in his response. He's composing himself as he explains to Ron that he did tell them everything that he knew.

"Yeah, and we’re about as near getting rid of it as we are to finding the rest of them—nowhere effing near in other words.” “Take off the locket, Ron,” Hermione said, her voice unusually high. “Please take it off. You wouldn’t be talking like this if you hadn’t been wearing it all day.” “Yeah, he would,” said Harry, who did not want excuses made for Ron. “D’you think I haven’t noticed the two of you whispering behind my back? D’you think I didn’t guess you were thinking this stuff?"

Well, Hermione IS being unfair by blaming it on the locket. We do know that Ron left even after he removed the locket, and like Harry said, they were whispering behind his back.

Further on:

"Harry we weren’t—” “Don’t lie!” Ron hurled at her. “You said it too, you said you were disappointed, you said you’d thought he had a bit more to go on than—” “I didn’t say it like that—Harry, I didn’t!” she cried. The rain was pounding the tent, tears were pouring down Her- mione’s face, and the excitement of a few minutes before had van- ished as if it had never been, a short-lived firework that had flared and died, leaving everything dark, wet, and cold. The sword of Gryffindor was hidden they knew not where, and they were three teenagers in a tent whose only achievement was not, yet, to be dead. “So why are you still here?” Harry asked Ron. “Search me,” said Ron.

Read the last part. Harry asks him why he's still there and Ron replies by saying that he doesn't know. THAT is when Harry asks him to leave; Ron made it clear that he does not even want to remain there any more.

Remarkably, Harry is STILL replying calmly when he asks him to go home.

"Go home then,” said Harry. “Yeah, maybe I will!” shouted Ron, and he took several steps toward Harry, who did not back away. “Didn’t you hear what they said about my sister? But you don’t give a rat’s fart, do you, it’s only the Forbidden Forest, Harry I’ve-Faced-Worse Potter doesn’t care what happens to her in there—well, I do, all right, giant spider and mental stuff—”

Ron talks about how Harry doesn't care about what happens to Ginny.

And incredibly, Harry is STILL calm.

“I was only saying—she was with the others, they were with Hagrid—” “Yeah, I get it, you don’t care! And what about the rest of my family, the Weasleys don’t need another kid injured, did you hear that?” “Yeah, I—” “Not bothered what it meant, though?”

“Not bothered what it meant, though?” “Ron!” said Hermione, forcing her way between them. “I don’t think it means anything new has happened, anything we don’t know about: think, Ron, Bill’s already scarred; plenty of people must have seen that George has lost an ear by now, and you’re supposed to be on your deathbed with spattergroit, I’m sure that’s all he meant—” “Oh, you’re sure, are you? Right then, well, I won’t bother myself about them. It’s all right for you two, isn’t it, with your parents safely out of the way—” “My parents are dead !” Harry bellowed

There you go. Ron insults Harry's parents greatly by talking about how his parents are "safely out of the way". At this point, Harry, who has been remarkably calm overall, loses his temper.

Honestly, you know what happens after that. Harry responds to him by asking him to essentially fuck off, and Ron begins to escalate it physically and attack Harry (a fight was averted by Hermione's shield charm).

And then Ron left even AFTER having removed the locket. Don't blame it on the locket, it's a weak excuse.

So, to summarize:

Ron started the argument.

Harry replies in a mostly calm manner.

Ron insults Harry's dead parents upon which the latter finally loses his temper.

Ron leaves after removing the locket.

Yeah, sorry, I am still 100% going to blame Ron here.

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